When Tracker doesn’t reply, I turn to look at him. He’s trying not to laugh.
“You’re an awfully jealous woman for someone who keeps rejecting me at every turn.”
“I’m not jealous,” I scoff.
Okay, I am jealous.
I’m jealous of every woman who ever had him. I wish I wasn’t, but the man makes me lose rational thought. I am an independent woman. I’m strong, educated and have good self-esteem, but when it comes to Tracker . . .
The word want fails in comparison to how I feel about him.
I’m drawn to him.
If I believed in soul mates, I would have said he was mine. The way he makes me feel is incredible, but at the end of the day, I don’t trust him. The truth is, I judge him for his past. I’m not naïve enough to think that I’ll be the woman to change Tracker. I’ve dated a few men and have noticed one recurring thing: they say and do all the right things at first. But it doesn’t take much for them to lose interest and seek amusement in other places. Men lie too easily. I have a hard time trusting, and Tracker’s history with Allie and the number of other women he’s been with doesn’t make it easier for me. Maybe Tracker truly believes I’m different and has serious feelings for me. But how long will that last? I don’t want to compete with other women and fight for his affection. I don’t want to wonder about where he is, who he’s with.
Even though I already do that, at least right now he isn’t mine. He’s just a fantasy. A dream I can’t let become reality.
We are two different people, and if he breaks me, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to come back from that.
SIX
HIS shirt is massive on me, but it covers my nipples, which is all I can ask for right now.
“Thanks,” I say as I button it up.
“Anytime,” he replies huskily, stepping back and taking me in from head to toe. “You look good in it.”
When his gaze returns to mine, my eyes narrow slightly.
I don’t miss what flashes in his blue depths.
Possession.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him, arching my brow.
“Like what?” he asks, taking his hand in mine and walking me into the twenty-four-hour café.
“Like I’m yours and you’re just waiting for me to realize it.”
He opens the door for me. “That’s the truth though.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. I roll my eyes and walk to one of the booths. He slides in next to me, his thigh pressed against mine.
“Do you think Anna’s going to be okay in the car?” I ask, staring out the window to where I parked.
“She’s fine,” he says, picking up a menu. “Can hear her fuckin’ snoring from here. If it stops, I’ll go out and investigate.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Leave her alone. She’s sensitive about her snoring.”
He grunts. “Proof right there that Arrow fuckin’ loves her, listening to that every night.”
I take the menu from his hands and glance over it. “I’ll grab Anna a burger. There’s no sushi here.”
“Be questionable if there was,” he says, grinning. “What do you want to eat?”
I scan the menu again. “I’ll have some nachos.”
“Good choice,” he replies, waving a waitress over. She practically runs to him, making me shake my head in both amusement and annoyance.
“What can I get you?” she purrs. She’s leaning over the table slightly, giving us a clear view of her ample breasts.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he tells the blonde, not looking up. “Can we have some nachos, two burgers with fries, and some chocolate cake? Oh, and some ribs.”
I give him a sideways glance. Sweetheart? He’s such a flirt.
He looks to me. “Drink?”
“Water, please.”
He nods and looks back to the waitress. “Water and a Coke.”
“Do you want the cake with the meal or after?”
“With,” Tracker replies. “Thanks.”
She leaves and he returns his attention to me.
“Hungry much?”
He smiles slowly. “This is just a snack.”
My mouth twitches. “Insatiable appetite?”
“You have no idea,” he says, staring into my eyes. “But you will.”
I swallow hard. I should know not to bait him, because he isn’t shy in the least. He will say anything, and it’s always me who ends up embarrassed.
Tracker nudges me playfully, so I glance up at him.
“Don’t go all quiet on me, I’m just playing,” he says, tilting his head to the side and studying me. “What were you doing up so late? Or did Anna wake you? When she told me she rang you I was pissed. She could have called one of the prospects to get her.”
“I was up; it was no problem. What about you?” I find myself asking. “Too many drinks?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I had a few. I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I didn’t mind Anna calling me,” I say. “If you can’t call your best friend in the middle of the night when you’re drunk, then who can you call?”
“A taxi service?” he supplies, chuckling at his own joke. “A fuckin’ prospect is who she should’ve called.”
“Is that what they’re there for?” I ask, arching a brow.