Page 8 of Ready, Willing and Abel (Dog Tags #6)
chapter
eight
Esme
I grab my phone from my purse and try to text my sister without it being overly noticeable.
ME: 9-1-1!
ME: Help!
MIA: Aren’t you on your date?
ME: Yes.
ME: He’s flirting.
MIA: Then flirt back.
ME: But how can I tell?
MIA: Tell what?
ME: If it’s real flirting or acting flirting?
MIA: Good question…
Three dots appear and then disappear. This happens four more times. Come on, Mia, advice is needed!
MIA: If, when you’re out, he looks at other women.
MIA: Or if he flirts with the waitress.
MIA: If he looks at his phone too much.
ME: What about those things?
MIA: Well, if he does those things, I’d say the flirting is just for the sake of appearances.
ME: Oh, okay. Good to know.
ME: I kissed him.
MIA: You shut your face!
ME: I will not.
MIA: I am deceased.
MIA: Mia is no more.
MIA: Here lies Mia. She died because her sister is a badass.
I laugh and slide my phone back into my purse. Abel glances over at me.
“My sister is ridiculous,” I tell him.
God, he looks so sexy tonight. Another pair of those expensive-feeling jeans, these are a dark blue.
And a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
The ink on both of his arms looks sexy. His watch looks sexy.
He’s just sexy… so much sexy. And he smelled so good when we were kissing, I wanted to lick him all over.
“Are you going to answer me?” he asks.
“Oh God, you asked me a question, didn’t you?”
He nods. “It was kind of a broad question though. Tell me how you became Cactus Girl.”
“That’s easy. It was all because when my sister and I, her name is Mia, if I haven’t mentioned that.
Anyway, Mia and I would spend as much time on the farm with our MaMaw.
She could and did make anything. The farm was bigger back then.
She had cattle and a few horses, more acreage.
We had to sell some of it to pay for her medical bills when she got sick. So now I live on what’s left.”
“I started making the jam because people in town loved it when she’d bring some for potlucks at the church or community center. She never sold it. I tweaked the recipe and now I have three unique flavors: traditional prickly pear, jalapeno prickly pear, and prickly pear peach chutney.”
“Marley loved the jar I gave her, so thank you and sorry that I just took it from your kitchen,” he says.
“Well, you paid enough for several other jars, so let me know when you want them.”
“I definitely want to try them.” He chuckles. “I would never have looked at a cactus and thought it could be made into something edible.”
“I make other things besides jams. Right now, I’m trying to get my sister to persuade her boss to sign a deal with me. He owns a local brewery. I want him to make a special ale. Prickly Pear Shandy Ale by the Cactus Girl.”
“Love it.”
I lift a shoulder. “I mean, it’s just gourmet food items. I’m not doing medical research.”
“Nah, don’t short change yourself. You’re pretty damn amazing, Esme. If anything, I’m the one who should be embarrassed about what I contribute to society.”
“Entertainment. Escapism. Hope.”
“Hope?” he asks.
“Well, yeah. I mean, if it’s a good movie with a happy ending. Not like a disaster movie. Those aren’t very hopeful.”
He laughs. “I guess not.” He pulls his car into a parking spot at the front of Gator’s as if they’ve been holding it just for us.
For all I know, they did. The powers of a movie star are probably far-reaching.
He helps me out of the car, then threads our fingers together. I chide my heart for getting excited and, well, hopeful. This is all for pretend. Even if he has an uncanny ability for making me feel like he’s really into me.
We’re led to our table, which is in a quiet section of the restaurant. A corner booth that allows us to sit squished together.
Zydeco music plays in the background, and the rich aroma of roux, seafood, and fried goodness fills the air.
My stomach growls in response.
He grins at me. “Hungry?”
I lick my lips and nod.
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Me too.”
Why does that sound so sexy? Ugh, probably because it’s him. Abel Cartwright. He’s a sex symbol, for Pete’s sake. Whoever the hell Pete is. Everything he does is probably sexy.
Well, except maybe falling into a cactus.
That makes me giggle.
His hand slides onto my knee. It’s over my dress, but still, the touch feels intimate and intensely erotic.
“What are you laughing about?” he asks.
“I was thinking that you’re incredibly sexy, and then reminding myself that you’re an actual real-life sex symbol. Then I remembered you falling into the cactus.”
He laughs. It’s a deep, hearty, and real belly laugh that somehow lights up all of the erogenous parts of me.
“Keeping me humble, I see.”
“It was an interesting way to meet someone for the first time,” I say.
“Our meet cute,” he says.
“That’s a romance novel term.”
“It actually originated in a movie from the late thirties. Bluebeard’s Eighth Wife. The director was German and not a native English speaker, so he got the words turned around. And it stuck.”
“Wowing me with your secret Hollywood information. Nice.”
He laughs, and I’m struck by the little lines that fan out from his mouth. “Actually, I googled it once because I was curious.”
This man is going to break my heart. And I’m going to let him because I’m not missing a second of this relationship. Even if it is only for appearances.
We order and make it through appetizers, talking like we’ve known each other for years. It’s the easiest first date I’ve ever been on. And doesn’t even feel like a first date, but rather like it’s just something that’s right between us.
“So when did you recognize me?” he asks.
“That first day?”
“Yeah.”
“As soon as I got close enough to see your face.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“Well, I was kinda freaking out that you were in my field. It’s not every day you find a trespasser arguing with your goats. Especially if that trespasser is a famous actor.”
He takes a sip of his iced tea.
“You’re not going to ask if I’m a fan?”
His eyes cut over to me. “No. I wouldn’t want to know if you think I’m a complete hack. I mean, my reputation in Hollywood is basically that I’m eye candy. It almost feels like a game. Like they’re trying to find as many roles as possible for me to do without my shirt.”
I laugh. “Like that movie with Tina Fey and Steve Carrel, Date Night. And Steve says to Mark Wahlberg’s character, “Will you please put on a shirt?” Or something like that.”
“That’s a funny movie.”
“For the record, I am a fan. I like your movies.” I lean a little closer to him and put a hand on his arm. “But I have to confess something.”
He winces. “You don’t think I deserved that award nomination. I know. I hear that all the time.”
“What? No, I —” I shake my head. “I was just going to admit that I had a huge crush on you when I was a kid. From Oliver’s Twist . It was my favorite show, and you were my first celebrity crush.”
He stares at me, and then the moment is broken when the server brings over the check. While Abel takes care of that, I slip out my phone.
ME: He’s definitely flirting.
MIA: And?
ME: I’m gonna go for it. I might be heartbroken later, but tonight I’m charging forward.
MIA: Ride ‘em, cowgirl.