I shrug, trying to keep my voice easy. “Maybe cause I want to know you.” I’ll admit, for all I’m messing with her that much is true. We’ve crossed paths a handful of times, at a couple of weddings and a few parties. But I still don’t know Sol as more than as that sweet, sexy woman who hooks me with her smile.
She nibbles on her bottom lip, like she’s trying to keep herself quiet. When her attention shifts to the window where a group of kids are heading off to school, I don’t think she’s going to answer. But then she does, or at least tries to.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Studious maybe?”
I stop mid-chew, swallowing hard so I can speak. “Studious?” I repeat. At her nod I say. “Is that the best you can do?”
She smirks. “I know it’s not the same as having Greek god-like charm, but we all can’t be Thor.”
“Thor?” I ask.
I’m trying to stir that cute blush again, and while her cheeks go slightly pink, this time she doesn’t turn away. “You know Thor, the guy with the really big hammer?” She shrugs. “You have to respect the hammer.”
“Damn, there’s so much I can say to that.” I hold out my hand. “But I won’t because I’m a classy guy.”
“Classy, alpha, and charming?” she rests her cheek on her hand. “Tell me more.”
The way the side of her face falls perfectly against her hand coupled with the way she waits patiently to hear what I have to say, momentarily holds me in place. A lot of women I’ve dated strike poses to look good and show off their assets. I’m not talking about when they’re standing for pictures―I mean in general, for attention, so I’ll buy them a drink, and yeah, to get me to take them home and fuck them. I’ve walked in on a few practicing their stances, adjusting their expressions and curves just so in front of a mirror. It’s fake, well-rehearsed, and effective. But the way Sol is sitting in front of me doesn’t appear anything close to phony. She looks good―damn good―don’t get me wrong. Yet it’s like she genuinely wants to hear what I have to say and this is simply who she is.
It shouldn’t give me pause like it does. Sol’s just―I don’t know―real I guess. Maybe that’s why she’s been so hard to forget, despite our mostly brief interactions throughout the years.
I push my empty plate aside, crossing my arms in front of me and leaning in close. “What do you want to know?”
She gives it some thought. “What do you think your best feature is?”
“Besides these muscles you can’t stop looking at?” I ask, stretching. When that blush finds its way back into that face, and it looks like it’s taking all she has to keep her eyes off my body, I’ll admit it’s my turn to smirk. I wasn’t positive she was attracted to me. Not like I am to her. Now that I know she is, I want to play and tease her a little more. But I hold back, though it takes some effort. “I have to say my jaw,” I answer.
“Your jaw?” Again it’s like she’s fighting to keep from looking elsewhere.
“Yup. I can take a hit, and it’s never been broken.”
“Well, thank God for that,” she says cringing. She scans my face. “What about your nose?”
“That’s been busted three times.”
Her mouth pops open. “Seriously?”
“Hell, yeah,” I tell her. “Want to feel?” I ask, leaning in.
I don’t think she’s going to touch me, but then she reaches out, grazing my skin so lightly, I barely feel it. When most girls touch me, they really touch me, making it clear they want to do a lot more. With Sol, it’s different, more like she’s afraid to cause me pain. Weird, especially since she knows I bust people up for a living.
She finds the spot where my nose curves just slightly, her features revealing sadness I don’t expect. “Wow,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all good. Part of the job, you know?”
She nods like she understands, but it doesn’t erase that hint of sadness I catch. I watch her hand as she pulls it away and carefully places it on the table. Yeah. Sol’s different. But I’m starting to think she’s different in more ways than I originally thought. “What about you?” I ask.
“I can honestly say my nose has never been broken,” she answers.
I chuckle, knowing that now she’s the one trying to lure my grin. “You know what I mean. What’s your best feature?”
“My brain,” she says. She points to her skull when my stare lowers to her perky round breasts. “This one right here.”
“Sorry,” I offer, not really meaning it. “Didn’t mean to get distracted by your . . .”
“Personality?” she teases, “Sparkling wit, dazzling sense of humor?”
All right, two can play it that way. I lift my arm, bending it enough to bulge the muscles along my bicep and pecs as I pass my hand through my hair.
Sol’s gaze drags along my shoulder, chest, arm, all the way up to the broody stare I’m pegging her with before she catches herself. “Looks like we’re even,” I say when her lips part.
She covers her face with her hand and shakes her head. “You are seriously unbelievable.”
“You forgot hot,” I remind her. I shift my position so I’m as close as can be with this damn table between us. “So, when are we going out?”