One side of her mouth curled upward. “I always wondered which one of you brothers stole them.”
He held up his right hand. “Guilty as charged. So I’ll make it up.” He sat down in the free chair at her table.
This time her smile involved her whole mouth. “Have a seat.”
Eyeing her still closed menu, he settled back against the seat. “Good, you haven’t ordered yet. How hungry are you? Because I’m starving.”
As if on cue, her stomach growled. “Famished.”
“Are you woman enough for the Double Date?” He laughed when she gave him the side eye. “On the menu.”
She flipped open her menu, traced a finger down the list of entrees, paused for a moment and arched her eyebrows. “Three chimichangas, four enchiladas, a double order of rice and beans and sopapillas for dessert. Are you kidding?”
“Come on, live life on the wild side.”
“You’d have to roll me out of here afterward.”
Hank looked, really looked, at Beth. Even though she sat, he knew her body was long and lean, with muscular thighs and an ass you could play quarters on. Shit, he’d known that since coming home after a four-year, post-college stint in the Marines. She’d been twenty years old with hair down to her waist and the sweetest little strut he’d ever seen. The woman had been—and still was—a knockout. But there was something more to her now than when she was barely legal, some extra air of…hell, he couldn’t describe it, but it sure made his dick sit up and take notice.
“I doubt that, you’re looking fine.” His gaze roamed her light brown skin, locking in on the small patch of lace peeking out from the scoop-necked shirt she’d been tugging on. “More than fine, really.”
“Uh…thanks.” She fidgeted with her menu then stuffed her hands in her lap.
Oh hell. What was he doing? This was his little sister’s best friend, practically a second sister since she’d spent so much time at their house while growing up. Beth was not a possible fuck buddy, which was all he wanted or needed.
Damn straight. The ink on his divorce papers had only been dry for eight months. Relationships were not on his radar right now, which meant Beth inhabited a no-fucking zone.
An awkward silence descended while he tried to figure out how to disengage his foot from his big mouth. Luckily, the arrival of their waiter with the chips and salsa released the tension.
“So are you ready to order?” The waiter held his pen at the ready.
“Yeah, we’ll have the Double Date. I have a Dos Equis. Do you want a beer?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not really a drinker. I’ll take a Pepsi.”
The waiter scribbled down their order and hustled back to the kitchen. Hank went back to wondering how to fill the silence.
He didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just the way he is. Hank Layton flirts the way normal human beings breathe.
Beth had been there. Almost done that. Wasn’t going back for more.
Okay. That helped to bring her heart rate back to normal, if you considered cheetah-speed normal. Of course, after the day she’d had, it was no wonder her reactions were out of whack. She took a drink of ice-cold water, watching Hank over the top of her glass, and almost dropped it. He was staring right at her. Her stomach fluttered—which was better than the twisted anxiety tying her guts up in knots since this morning because of the latest in a string of threatening calls.
This feeling was all about Hank, all six feet, three inches of him. She’d memorized that stat his first year of playing quarterback for the University of Nebraska. She’d tacked the page with his picture and stats from a football program to the back of her closet in high school. She would have taped it to the ceiling above her bed, but couldn’t begin to think of a way to explain that one to her abuelita. Or Claire, who would have reminded her that Hank was her bossy oldest brother with the world’s meanest girlfriend. The one who had become his wife and, now, his ex-wife.
A pair of dark jeans encased his long legs, loose enough to be casual and tight enough to cling to the ass she lusted after despite knowing she shouldn’t. An untucked Nebraska football T-shirt covered his wide shoulders and hid the washboard abs that haunted the restless nights she spent alone in bed, unable to sleep.
“So,” Hank drawled. “How’s the world treating you today?”
Honestly? Like a redheaded stepchild. “I’ll live.”
“That’s always good news.” He smirked. “Rough day?”
“No doubt about it. You?”
“Every day since mom roped me into that Founder’s Day fiasco is a mess. It’s her second favorite topic since she and dad moved back permanently to Dry Creek.”