Starfire(55)

“You surprise me,” Dalton said.

“I’m sorry about the dog water, but maybe I shouldn’t be. I think you were trying to provoke me.”

“Oh, the dog water didn’t surprise me. I saw the bucket, and I knew what you were going to do before you did. No, I’m surprised how jealous you are. Honestly, it’s kind of sweet.”

I held one hand up to the side of my face to prevent him from making eye contact with me. “Please don’t say I’m sweet. I’m a horrible person. I went to LA to stay with you, and went right to another man’s apartment. Then as soon as I found out you were coming to town, I latched onto the nearest guy, just to throw him between us.”

“You’re free to kiss who you want. I don’t own you, despite what the agreement says.”

“If you want to date Golden, you have my permission. She’s a really nice girl, and you could do much worse.”

He chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m starting filming for the show next week, plus I have to get married to another blonde. She’s a real cutie.”

“You’d better be talking about me, or I will find another bucket of water.”

Dalton made a gagging expression. “Some actual water would be refreshing. I think that last one was mostly dog slobber.” He rubbed his face with his dry sleeve. “Is water supposed to be stringy?”

I pointed to the door of a casual-looking burritos restaurant. “Let’s go in there and get you cleaned up.”

He agreed, and I stood near the counter studying the menu board while he washed off the dog slobber. When he came back out, he looked up at the menu board and said, “What are we having?”

“You want to eat here?”

He breathed in deeply through his nose. “Why not? The food smells good.”

I pointed to the cash register. “We need to order up there and pay now, then they’ll call our number, or maybe they’ll just bring it out.”

He looked down at me, smiling and shaking his head, as if I was the dumbest but cutest person he’d ever met.

“Peaches, I’ve eaten at a cafe before. I’m practically a regular person.”

“Right. A regular person who has an airplane.”

“Just a little airplane.”

“And a butler.”

“Just a medium-sized butler.” He nudged me toward the cash register playfully. “Order something, cutie. I’m hungry.”

He was right about the restaurant smelling good. It seemed to be a family-run business, with three little kids running around behind the counter. After I ordered, I talked to the curly-haired woman, asking if she was the owner. She joked that she owned the kids, but the bank owned the restaurant. We talked for a few minutes, with me asking the ages of all the children, who were five, eight, and eight, the latter being fraternal twins.

Dalton and I took our drinks to our table and sat near a window. We’d come down a hill to get here, but there was still a nice view of the city in one direction.

“You want kids?” he asked.

I took a sip of my iced tea.

This moment could have been a good time to open up to Dalton, but there were people around. It would be bad enough to hear Dalton incredulously say I must have known I was pregnant, without looking over into strangers’ open mouths, full of half-chewed burritos.

I countered with, “Do you really think your PR problem is so bad you need to have a PR baby?”

He slipped off his sweatshirt and stretched back like a sleepy lion before raising his arms in the air. His thin shirt stretched even tighter across his pectoral muscles, and he flashed me one bump’s worth of his abs. There were many reasons the man inspired legions of fangirls to flock to any convention he was scheduled to attend, and two of those reasons were his pecks. Another two were his arms—those gorgeous arms lazily stretching and flexing before me.

“I had fun with your little brother, at your cousin’s wedding,” he said.

My skin started to tingle. The way he was looking at me while talking about kids and my brother—did he know something?

“What exactly did you and Golden talk about?”

I was pretty sure Golden didn’t know Kyle was my son, because I sure as hell hadn’t told her, but you just never know in a small town.

He said, “Why are we back to talking about your friend? Am I going to get a drink or two thrown in my face?”

“Only if you waggle your slutty vampire eyebrows when you talk about her.”

He chortled, leaning forward across the table on his elbows. I tore myself away from his hypnotic green eyes. The wood table had a hand-made checkerboard marked with wood stain. I traced the edges with my fingernail.