Home > Craft (The Gibson Boys #2)(9)

Craft (The Gibson Boys #2)(9)
Author: Adriana Locke

Slicing into my chicken breast, I attempt to tune them out. The waitress’ giggle is abrasive and Jonah’s try at conversation so painful I almost wince. If it weren’t completely rude, I’d yank out my phone and ask Whitney how this guy is going to be a doctor when he has virtually no people skills. Less than even I do.

There is some weird chemistry between the two of them though, so I turn towards the window. As I chew my chicken, I’m kind of happy for him. I can’t imagine that he finds this kind of thing any easier than I do and Lord knows how much I struggle with dating. Or how much I would struggle if I did it regularly.

I hear the waitress leave. I decide to direct my attention back to Jonah and make an attempt at this date, when I stop. My fork falls to my plate and clinks off the china. From the other side of the window, in the drive-thru lane, sits Lance. His window is rolled down and he’s looking at me.

One eyebrow lifts as he takes me in. He ignores the guy honking behind him as he holds my glance for a few long seconds like he’s not sure what he’s seeing. Something must catch his eye because he turns his attention to something else.

He looks across from me.

To Jonah.

Oh God.

There’s no hiding his amusement when he slides his eyes back to mine. The asshole has the audacity to laugh. The car behind him honks again as I glare at him through the glass. I can imagine the snicker that’s undoubtedly toppling past his smirk as he pulls away.

Sagging back in my seat, I struggle to find room in my chest to fill it with air. It’s like all the oxygen was sucked from me and replaced with curiosity about Lance. My brain races through potential situations—where is he going, who is he with, who was he getting dinner for? My stomach sours.

“You okay?” Jonah’s voice drifts across the table, barely audible through my haze.

“Sorry,” I say, pasting on a smile. “It’s been a long day.”

“You didn’t hear anything I said, did you?”

My cheeks heat, like I got caught with my hand in the candy jar. “Uh, no. Can you repeat that?”

“I was saying I just got a text from the hospital,” he says. “There’s a new procedure scheduled in an hour I’d like to observe. It’s only performed at a few hospitals nationwide and I really think it’s important I stand in and see what it’s all about. It would be great for my career.”

Relief washes over me, but it’s fleeting. When I look up again, I almost fall out of my chair.

“Well, look who I found.” Lance’s voice is full of amusement as he strides right up to the table, no fucks given. Dressed in dark denim and a navy blue button-down that he didn’t bother to tuck in, he looks casual and delicious, despite the cocky look on his face.

I plead to the heavens that he didn’t come in here just to tease me. When he winks, I know I’m screwed.

The pink in my cheeks cranks up a notch as I look from an entertained Lance to a bewildered Jonah. I should say something, introduce them, because Jonah’s confusion is clear.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Lance instead. When I shoot him a look that practically begs him not to embarrass me, he just laughs.

“I was picking up dinner.”

“In the drive-thru,” I point out.

“And they forgot my apple pie,” he says. Pride blooms on his face like he’s tickled to death he came up with a lie so quickly. “I’m Lance Gibson,” he says, turning to Jonah. “And you are?”

“Jonah.” He looks at me briefly before turning back to Lance. “How do you know Mariah?”

“Oh, we’re old friends,” Lance lies. Again. “How do you know her?”

“I’m her date.”

Lance takes a step back. I can’t decipher the look on his handsome face, whether he’s curious or irritated now. He watches Jonah far too closely for far too long.

“It’s nice to meet you, but we were just leaving,” Jonah says, putting his napkin on the table.

Scrambling to get myself together, to find my purse, to take a final sip of my Coke, I freeze everything when Lance speaks.

“You barely touched your chicken, Mariah.”

“Jonah got a call from the hospital,” I explain. “Spur of the moment thing. He’s needed there so we’re going to cut this a little short.”

“Then perfect timing. I’ll take you home,” Lance says. He narrows his eyes as if to warn me, but I skirt right around that.

“Oh, no,” I protest, holding up a hand. “That’s unnecessary.”

“I have ten minutes to get to Merom Memorial,” Jonah notes. “Would it be okay if your friend took you home? I hate asking, but we’re already in Merom and if I drive you back to Linton first—”

“I’ll get a ride. It’s fine.” He may not mean to be rude, but it certainly feels that way. Who lets another man take his date home?

Still, as he gets to his feet and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Lance, my body releases an evening full of stress. Although Lance is a giant pain in my ass, being stuck with him is better than being stuck with Jonah. At least we can argue instead of regurgitating information over and over.

“I’ll pay the bill before I leave. It was nice meeting you, Mariah,” Jonah says.

“It was nice meeting you too.” I stand, thinking I should shake his hand or something. I don’t know. Instead, Jonah leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

Glancing up at Lance, I see a fire in his eye. I hold my breath as Lance starts to take a step toward Jonah, but then he stops.

“You better get going.” Lance taps his watch. “Nine minutes.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll call you.” Jonah gives me a little wave before taking off through the restaurant. Lance is in his seat before Jonah is even out of sight.

“This isn’t even a cheeseburger,” he scoffs. Pushing the plate to the edge of the table, he makes a face. “Where’d you find this guy?”

“It’s a veggie burger.”

“Did you specifically look for a guy without testosterone or did it just happen?”

“He’s nice,” I object, trying and failing, to hide a giggle.

“You didn’t think he was nice,” he mocks. “And you weren’t the least bit attracted to him.”

I wasn’t. I’m sure everyone watching us could see that. But I’m not about to admit that to Lance. Letting him think I was falling madly in love wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done. “And how would you know that?”

He leans forward, and his cologne wraps around me. “You were sitting back in your chair, for one.”

“What?” Then I look down and realize I’m mimicking his posture and leaning toward him. I shift back in my seat. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

He shrugs. “Maybe not. But your eyes did light up when you saw me.”

“You’re delusional.”

Much to my surprise, he seems to consider this. “You may be right.” He redirects his attention to the waitress now primed at the table.

“You aren’t the man who was here before,” she laughs. “Girl, where do you find these guys? I need to hang out there.”

“You’d be surprised,” I tell her. “The other guy said he was paying the check. Can you make sure he did?”

“Wait.” Lance whips a menu off the napkin dispenser. “I want dessert.”

“Lance …” I sigh, watching him scan the menu.

“What’s good here?” he asks, ignoring me.

The waitress rattles off a bunch of choices. He’d love the peanut butter pie, but I don’t tell him that.

There’s a touch of stubble dotting his cheeks. He works his jaw back and forth as he peruses the dessert choices. It’s hard, like it’s cut from granite and angled in a sharp line. My hand starts to move, to reach out on instinct and feel the roughness against my palm, but I come to my senses in the nick of time.

“I want the peanut butter pie. What about you?” He offers me the menu.

“I thought you came in to get the apple pie the drive-thru forgot?” I remind him. “Or did that slip your mind?”

“Totally slipped my mind,” he chuckles. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter now anyway.”

“Would you like a piece too?” The waitress asks as Lance and I exchange a knowing smile. “We have a great blackberry cobbler.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Give her a slice of the lemon pie,” Lance cuts in.

“I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, you do. Or at least you can sit there and look at it while I eat mine.”

Or I can sit here and look at you and pretend you’re eating me.

Oh, God.

I can’t look away from him fast enough. Lifting my purse from the seat next to me, I scavenge through it like a girl who may perish if she doesn’t locate her phone.

“Did I say something?” he asks after the waitress is gone.

“Nope. Nothing at all. Just worried I left my phone in Jonah’s car,” I say, pulling it out like a trophy. “Whew. I wasn’t sure.”

“All righty then …”

Setting it carefully next to my glass, I exhale. “I feel better now.”

“Tell me about the hippie.”

“He wasn’t a hippie,” I insist. “He’s a doctor. Or going to be one. I think. I have doubts with his lack of interpersonal communication skills.”

“How’d you meet him? Is this the guy you’ve been seeing?” He pulls his brows together. “No disrespect, but he’s not exactly the type I thought you’d be having dinner with.”

“Well, for the record, he’s not exactly who I thought I’d be having dinner with either,” I shrug. “But it’s over now.”

“So you won’t be seeing him again?”

   
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