“Excuse me, busboy,” I said, snapping my fingers in the air to get his attention.
He ignored me, but I caught the grin he was wearing. I also felt the pleasure my attention gave him. It radiated from his essence and brushed over my skin like hot silk.
“Busboy,” I repeated, snapping more loudly. “Over here.”
He finally apologized to the flirty foxes, explaining that his heart belonged to another before he strolled to our table. “Busboy?” he asked, stopping in front of us and leveling a look of concern on a red-faced Cookie.
She took another sip and waved a hello.
I gestured to his apron. “You look like a busboy.”
“In that case, can I clean anything for you?”
“You can clean your dirty mind,” I said, teasing him. “Having fun?” I indicated the table with a nod.
“They were complimenting my cooking.” He leaned in very close. “According to consensus, I’m really good at scrambling things.”
They’d nailed that one. He was really good at scrambling my insides. My emotions. My girlie bits. “That’s wonderful,” I said, pretending not to care, “but we need lunch.”
“Didn’t you hear? I’ve been demoted to busboy, so you’ll have to ask your server about lunch. I don’t think busboys can take orders.”
I pulled the apron string in much the same way as the flirt did. “You’ll take my order, and you’ll like it.”
A soft, deep laugh reverberated out of him. “Yes, ma’am. Can I suggest the Santa Fe chicken with Spanish rice?”
“You can, but I’ll have the margarita chicken with fries smothered in red chile.”
“I’ll have the Santa Fe chicken,” Cookie said quickly, so falling for his ploy. He’d probably ordered too many chickens from Santa Fe and now had to hand-sell them to get rid of them. How different could chickens raised in Santa Fe be?
He flashed her a grin that was so beautiful, my heart skipped several pertinent beats. “Santa Fe chicken, it is. Would you like iced tea with that?” he asked me. When I hesitated, trying to decide between tea and an extra-large nonfat mocha macchiato with caramel sauce on the bottom and a dollop of whipped cream, he said, “It’s a yes/no question.”
I almost burst out laughing. Ever since he proposed to me on a sticky note, he’d been asking me a lot of yes/no questions to reiterate the fact that his proposal was also a yes/no question.
I shrugged. “Sometimes it’s not that black-and-white.”
“Sure it is.”
Cookie, knowing where this was headed, decided to study her menu again.
“Then my answer is yes.”
He stilled, waiting for the punch line. He knew me very well.
“Yes, I’ll have tea with my lunch and an extra-large nonfat mocha macchiato with caramel sauce on the bottom and a dollop of whipped cream after.”
Without missing a beat, he said, “Tea, it is.”
He started to turn, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem—” I lowered my voice. “—warmer than usual.”
“I’m always okay,” he said, mimicking what I’d said to Cookie earlier. He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips, kissing it softly. The heat from his mouth was searing.
It wasn’t until Reyes walked away that I realized the room had grown silent. Every eye was on us. Well, every female eye was on us. I glanced at Jessica and our gazes locked for an uncomfortable moment. She was jealous, and that fact didn’t make me happy. Why was she jealous when she didn’t have any claim to Reyes? Then again, jealousy was in a whole category by itself. One that sat right between instability and insecurity. But her jealously raked across my skin like fingernails.
Jealousy from Reyes was one thing, but jealousy from humans had a different taste, a different texture. It was hot and abrasive, like putting on scratchy burlap clothes right out of the dryer.
“When are you going to answer him?” Cookie asked, drawing my attention.
“When he deserves an answer,” I volleyed.
“So, saving your life countless times doesn’t warrant an answer?”
“Sure it does, but he doesn’t need to know that.”
One corner of her mouth tilted mischievously. “True.”
And that was one thing I never felt from Cookie. Jealousy. She was just as hot for Reyes as anyone, but she was never jealous of our relationship. She was happy for me, and therein lay the heart of a true friend. I’d thought Jessica was my best friend, but looking back with my 20/20 hindsight, I realized I’d felt jealousy radiate from her on several occasions in school. That should have been a clue, but I’d never been accused of being the brightest bedspread in the hotel.