Part 7 (2/2)
We placed our order with the server.
”It's not like you didn't try,” Colt continued after we'd made our choices. ”But, I care about you, you know that, and if you'd asked me two days ago whether I would stand in his way if he came back, I wouldn't have hesitated. I mean, we all got to see how little he obviously thought about you since he was here last.”
I flinched, my chest collapsing into the pit of my stomach.
Colt grabbed my hand that was sliding off the table. ”That was before, Keri Ann. Before I spoke to him. Before I saw him look at you. I don't know why the h.e.l.l he spent the last half a year acting like a douche, but as soon as you were gone, it was like he was different.”
”What do you mean?”
”I don't know what I mean. The guy you see out there in the world is not the same guy I spoke to yesterday.” He exhaled roughly. ”I just know that standing between you two, physically and metaphorically, doesn't feel comfortable at all. I realized no matter what I feel for you, you'll never have those same feelings for me. And to be honest, as much as I care about you, because I seriously do, I can't compete with that.”
I sat quietly, listening, letting him hold my hand. Colt was such a good guy. A good looking, successful, thoughtful guy. Any girl would be lucky to have him. But apparently not me.
He sighed and went on, ”I know you're not taken in by what he does for a living. I think, in fact, that's probably the least attractive thing about him for you. That's part of what makes you so different than all the a.s.set-driven women I know.”
”Is that the gentleman's way of saying gold-digger?” I laughed. ”Don't put me on a pedestal, Colt. I like money and security as much as the next girl.”
He smiled, ruefully. ”It's not about just money. It's the props they get from gossiping with their friends about how hot their boyfriend is, how successful he is, the latest designer purse he bought for them. That's why I call it a.s.set-driven. It's all about collecting trophies that make them look good and feel good.”
I frowned at him with a bemused smile. ”Feeling sorry for yourself, Mr. Bigshot? You realize this is how men have been since the beginning of time? Have to have the hottest girlfriend, flas.h.i.+est car, best job, blah, blah, blah. The eternal p.i.s.sing contest, if you will.”
Colt smirked. ”You're totally right. As always. Anyway, I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I do have the flas.h.i.+est car and best job out of all our peers as far as I know. I'm just irritated that I have to give up the hottest girl.”
My cheeks flushed warm, and I kicked his s.h.i.+n under the table.
”Ow! Jeez! I just gave you a compliment, and that's the thanks I get.”
Our server arrived with our food so I leaned back and folded my arms.
”Sorry,” I said with contrition. ”And I'm not the hottest girl-”
”Whatever.”
”I'm not, and you know it.”
”And that right there, Keri Ann, is what makes you completely f.u.c.king breathtaking. No wonder you had Jack Eversea falling for you.”
I paused with a fry halfway to my lips and winked to cover my reaction. ”d.a.m.n, with that mouth, you should be dropping panties all over Savannah.”
”Well, I was. And I plan to get back to it, now that you won't have me.”
”I have no doubt.” I laughed. I was beyond relieved Colt and I managed to move out of the date zone with minimal damage to pride and ego. ”Are you going to eat those fries?”
”You've already stolen five, what's a few more? Go ahead.” He leaned back and patted his flat waist through his s.h.i.+rt. ”Gotta keep trim now that I'm on the scene again.”
”I doubt you'll have to wait long. So about the party at the Westin. Do you still want to go, or would you prefer to bring a date? I can have Joey take me.”
”What? You mean Mr. Eversea won't be escorting you? Can you imagine how much more publicity your exhibit will get if he shows up?”
”Frankly, I can't think of anything worse.” I shuddered, imagining the circus it could become. ”But he won't be going, he doesn't know about it. And anyway, I told him to stay away from me.”
”First of all, he does know about it, because I told him. And secondly, what on earth makes you think he'll stay away from you?”
”Colt, I can't believe you told him. What the h.e.l.l else did you guys talk about?”
”Hmm ... let me think ... we covered me threatening him, him threatening me, your event obviously, the fact that I thought he'd been staring too hard at your wet t-s.h.i.+rt. He accused me of the same, whereupon I couldn't resist joking that it was 'headlight weather' and he literally flinched. I could tell I was getting to him, so, of course, I told him I was dating you now and that you made little kitten sounds when you were in bed with me, just to p.i.s.s him off further, which worked because he went white as a sheet. That's when I knew I should probably bow out. Not that I told him that. A bit of healthy compet.i.tion works wonders, don't you think?”
Three and a half hours later, I was late for work, stressed, and sh.e.l.l-shocked. I jabbed at my phone as I drove past the billboard reminding me that texting and driving was illegal in Georgia. I made it across the state line, marked not just by the Savannah River but also a strip club and a farm stand selling overpriced peaches to lost tourists, and pressed send.
Me: Jazz, call me! I'm traumatized.
She didn't call me, of course. I was defeated in the dress department even after three stores and seven dresses. And the beauty appointment was way out of my comfort zone. I felt like a fluffed poodle.
I made it back to Butler Cove in record time and went straight to the Grill, peeling into the parking lot with a spray of bleached oyster sh.e.l.ls. I slunk through the back door of the kitchen.
Hector, eyes wide, was already shaking his head and tutting at me. ”Hees here.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, looking hectic.
Dammit! Paulie, the owner, was notoriously absent off-season. Of course he would show up the one day I was late.
And I was wearing the light pink maxi dress I'd put on to have lunch with Colt instead of what I was supposed to wear, which was shorts and running shoes.
Hector c.o.c.ked a bemused eyebrow as he took in my appearance.
”Don't you dare say a word,” I warned him.
Jazz chose that moment to call me.
I regretfully silenced the phone and let it roll to voicemail as I stuffed my bag onto the top shelf of the storeroom. I glanced at my reflection and saw the trial make-up job I was wearing. At least it covered how tired I was. They'd done me over like I was getting married. I had highlights and soft waves in my normally unruly hair. I guessed it was pretty, but I pulled it all into a pony.
I was about to head past Hector and go apologize to Paulie for being late, when he took my shoulders. He set me at arm's length, gave me a long look with his dark brown eyes, and then sighed.
”It's okay, Hector.”
His eyes crinkled up. ”Bueno,” was all he said, and he pulled me into a big hug then pushed me toward the swing door, shaking his head, and making the sign of the cross over his chest.
Okay, weird. I frowned but headed out. Some days I felt like his daughter.
Oh. I stopped dead upon exiting the kitchen.
Oh.
He's here.
The place was electrified. Paulie, his back to me at the bar, his gray hair tied back on his neck, was roaring with laughter at something Devon Brown or Jack Eversea said to him from where they sat across the polished wood.
My blood pooled at my feet.
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