Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk #3) - Samantha Young Page 0,2
into the main gallery. I wore jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers rather than a pencil skirt, blouse, and sandals combo. Sometimes I wore flattering dresses too. But being curvy, I loved the way a pencil skirt accentuated my small waist and fuller hips.
Jeans made me look ordinary.
My boss had said we could get a free coffee and a sandwich in the small café at the back of the gallery and I was definitely going to take advantage of the offer. After I got my food and drink, I sat down in the quiet café and almost groaned with pleasure at getting off my feet.
It was one of those quietly perfect moments of contentment. A seat and free food.
Until he ruined it.
The chair next to mine scraped back, and I jerked with surprise, only to tense when hottie with the dreamy eyes and lush mouth sat down at my table. Our eyes hooked and locked as he crossed his arms on the tabletop and leaned in.
“Hey.”
I swallowed a bite of my sandwich, and my pulse skittered into takeoff. A flush spread over my skin and I hoped it wasn’t visible. Attempting to ignore my body’s inexplicable reaction to his proximity, I frowned. “Oh goodie, it’s Perv Boy.”
He flashed me a quick, crooked, boyish smile that did not give me butterflies.
Okay, it did. It totally did.
“People usually call me Michael or Mike.” He had a thicker Bostonian accent than me. He sounded like Gary, and I suspected he too was from Southie.
“That’s because they haven’t witnessed you gaping like a prepubescent boy at a half-naked woman before.”
Michael or Mike chuckled. “Was that how it came off?”
“You still have a little drool right there.” I gestured to the corner of his mouth.
He didn’t smile this time. Instead, he stared intensely at my face until I began to wonder if there was something on it. Flushing, I snapped, “You’re doing it again.”
Michael (I decided I’d always liked the name and hated it when people shortened it to Mike) shrugged. “I can’t help it.”
“Well, try.” I bit into my sandwich and scowled at him as I chewed.
“Christ, anyone ever tell you that you’re fuckin’ adorable?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re full on?”
“I never have been before.”
“Oh, lucky me that you decided to give it a try today.”
“You’re a little smart-ass.” He chuckled. “Your boss know you flip off customers when you’re pretending to be art?”
“You’re the first.”
“I’m honored.”
“You’re also the first to blatantly come in to perv on the models.”
“Not true.” He settled back in his chair like he was getting ready for a long, comfortable chat with me.
I had to get rid of him. My heart was pounding way too fast, my belly was fluttering with butterflies. I was not supposed to react to any guy like this who wasn’t Gary. At the thought of Michael getting up and leaving, however, an overwhelming sense of disappointment came over me. I was enjoying ribbing him, and he was … well, the way he made me feel was kind of exciting.
Oh boy.
“It is so true!” I guffawed. “You were absolutely perving.”
“I was staring at one model. You. And I wasn’t perving.”
“Oh, so you’re an art aficionado, are you?”
“No, I’m a rookie cop. This is my day off, and I told my friend I would drop him off at this catering gig he has going for tonight. That event is here. I was walking out of the kitchen to my car when I look over and yeah, I’m not going to lie, all I saw at first was a beautiful body. Then I looked at your face, and well,” he shrugged, “I couldn’t look away.”
Maybe I was an idiot to hear the sincerity in his voice. But that’s what I heard. No sleazy come-on. Just honesty. He looked like I’d caught him off guard, which made me feel better about my reaction to him.
I didn’t know what to say.
“You gonna go all shy on me now?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I was formulating a response.”
“Oh, were you?” He chuckled. “You go on, then, and you keep formulating. I’ve got time.”
“I should think you’re a creep.”
He cocked his head. “The point of dressing you up like that was to make people stare, no?”
“Yes, I guess,” I wrinkled my nose, “but other people are less obvious about it.”
“Why you doin’ it?” he nodded toward the gallery.
“It’s not shameful,” I said defensively.
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Well, you’re making it all sexy when it’s supposed to be about art.”