“Your loss, sweetheart,” Duke said, clearly taken aback by her directness.
“I wasn’t trying to sound like a bitch or anything.” Charlotte gave him a tight smile. “I just . . . it’s an Audi. It’s probably really complicated, and a trained professional is probably better suited. I don’t know that you’d be able to help me.”
It was one thing for her to shoot a man down because she wasn’t interested romantically, but it was quite another to shoot down his mechanical skills. Duke, like every other guy in this town, knew how to fix a car. Even a fancy car like hers.
“So much for not sounding like a bitch,” I said.
“Excuse me?” She quickly looked at me.
“You heard me.” I sat up straight in my chair. “He could fix your car just fine,” I assured her.
“Well, excuse me for not wanting some cowboy to poke around under the hood of my hundred-thousand-dollar car.” She looked back at Duke. “No offense.”
“None taken.” A small smile played on his lips as he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’re just going to take it?” I asked him, confused that Duke was bowing out so easily.
“You got this,” he said, giving me a nod.
I didn’t know what game he was playing, but if he wasn’t going to set this woman straight, I sure would. “Just because we live in Texas, we’re all cowboys?”
“I just assumed. But if the boot fits,” she said with a smirk, her agitation now clearly directed at me.
Which was fine. I could take it. “You know what they say about making assumptions. And you’re from where? Wait.”
I paused and took a second to turn my ball cap around. I wanted to make sure I was looking this snooty woman in the eye when I gave her the reality check she clearly needed. Her gaze flicked from me to Duke as the realization that we were twins sank in, but I wasn’t in the mood to discuss just how much we looked alike.
“Let me guess,” I said. “LA?”
“New York.”
“Ah.” I nodded. “Makes complete sense. I’m surprised you can even sit there, what with the stick up your ass and all. You know, because everyone from New York has one up theirs.”
The oohs and aahs that came from the nearby patrons listening in on our conversation were deafening.
“Wow,” Charlotte replied with a look of complete calm.
I’ll be the first to admit, I was kind of impressed that she wasn’t more rattled. Hell, maybe even a little turned on. Wasn’t every day you met a woman who could give as good as she could get. I thought for sure she’d get up and storm out like the spoiled brat I’d pegged her for.
“I shouldn’t have assumed that you were all cowboys.” She gave me a smug smile as she shook her head. “You’re clearly just an asshole.”
I’d never seen a woman so manicured and polished and cleaned up, it made me want to get her all dirty. And that sassy streak that ran a mile wide? Fuck, that just made me want to put her on her knees and show her who was boss.
Chapter Two
Charlotte
Never in my life had I met anyone more arrogant than the man sitting across from me. And that was really saying something, considering the high-society assholes I’d been surrounded with my entire life.
Didn’t matter one bit to me that his shoulders were broad and he looked like he worked with his hands. I didn’t let the image of him tossing hay bales or shoveling dirt pop into my head, or whatever it was that “not cowboys” did. The perfectly sculpted arms revealed by the short sleeves of his T-shirt didn’t distract me. Not one damn bit.
“Takes one to know one, sweetheart,” he said, narrowing his eyes on mine.
Now that his hat was out of the way, I could see the almost evergreen color of his eyes plain and clear. Or if I really wanted an up-close look, I could glance over at his twin brother sitting next to me. They might have been the most identical twins I’d ever seen—from their green eyes to the slope of their noses, right down to the dimples they both had on each cheek. The two were practically carbon copies. If I weren’t so annoyed by the one sitting across from me, I might have cozied up to the idea of spending a little time with them while I was stuck in this town, because the sexiness factor was definitely doubled too.
“I just came here to eat,” I finally said, wanting to end the pointless argument.
He tugged his hat back around. “Me too.”
Our conversation ended there. The glaring, however, continued for the next several minutes.
I took a deep breath and tried not to let his arrogance get the best of me. The only problem was that he was the sexiest man I’d ever seen in real life. They didn’t make men like him in New York, all rugged and rough around the edges.
“All right, folks,” the waitress said, finally stopping at our table. “Can I get ya some drinks, or just sweet tea all around?”
“I’ll take a water with lemon,” I said as the Wilders all nodded for iced tea.
The waitress nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And can I get a menu?”
As soon as the question was out of my mouth, the waitress and everyone within earshot snickered.
I was confused. This was a restaurant, right?
“Lunch is up on the board.” The waitress turned to point at a chalkboard on the wall. “What you see is what you get.” She smiled and left to check on another table.
“It’s family-style,” Molly explained.
“What does that mean?”
“One big meal brought out all in big bowls. All served at once.”
“Oh.” I finally realized what she meant. “Like Thanksgiving.”
“Exactly!”
Not that any of my Thanksgiving dinners had been served that way. My family always had a fully catered meal with some fanciful version of turkey and stuffing. I imagined this particular meal was going to be more like what I saw on television. Happy families, one big bowl of mashed potatoes, and smiles all around. Definitely not like the dinners in my memories.
Family-style wasn’t in my vocabulary. And more than that, I was used to my privacy, not having to fight for elbow room and listen to other people’s private conversations.
I flagged down the waitress as she passed by with a tray of biscuits. “Excuse me, but do you have a booth, or maybe just a private table in back? It’s been a hell of a day, and—”
She tucked a loose lock of hair back into her braid. “I’m going to take a wild guess and wager you’re not from around here.”
What does that have to do with anything?
My gaze wandered back to the hottie across from me. He was smirking.
“Does this make you uncomfortable?” he asked. “Sitting close to me?”
I looked back to the waitress for help, but she was already gone.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I said, straightening my posture.
His eyebrows jumped up as he studied me. “You look uncomfortable.”
Realizing that my spine was ramrod straight and my hands were fisted in my lap, I huffed out a sigh.