Page 10 of Wild Card

“First, that pose wasn’t easy. I think I dislocated my hip.” I try not to smirk. I did sneak a peek at him all folded up, looking stiff as hell. The man is strungtight. “Second, these figurinesare probably as old as me. I promise you no one was making figurines of Minnie Mouse doing yoga back then.”

I give a solemn nod, still staring ahead at yoga Minnie. “Right. In the olden days.”

That gets me a snort. “Something like that.”

“How oldareyou, then? Like, do you just look phenomenal for someone born in 1928? Because the sign says that’s when they were created.”

His beleaguered sigh as he straightens has me clamping my lips down tight to cover my amusement. I turn to face him, watching his eyes scan my face. He looks at me with such intensity that I almost squirm under his attention.

“I’m thirty-nine.”

He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans, as though going through the motions of acting casual when facing each other in this deserted hallway feels…not casual at all.

“Well, color me relieved. If you were born in 1928, you’d be altogether too old for me.”

He doesn’t react to the quip. Instead, he just keeps staring me down.

“How old are you, Gwen?” His dark eyes spark, and the question drips with—I don’t know what to call it. Promise? Knowing? He has to know I’m younger, but I’m also not so young that I’m afraid to take him by the hand and drag him out of the bar just to get him alone.

So I don’t slink away. I just tilt my head and let my eyes flit down to the grim line of his mouth. “I’m twenty-seven, Bash.”

He says nothing.

I swear I can see the gears turning in his head, but I don’t want him to use this as a reason to leave me tonight. I’m enjoying his company too much.

So I forge ahead before he can overthink it. “Glad we cleared that up. Let’s go.” I take his hand again and turn away as Ido. His arm is rigid, and he resists, but a quick glance over my shoulder has him softening.

And following.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asks, not dropping my hand this time.

“Sure.” I shrug. “But tired is kind of relative. I have been more tired. And there are worse things to be than tired. I’ll let my body rest tomorrow. Tonight, we make memories.”

“Like debating whether Minnie Mouse does yoga?”

My eyes latch on to the moving sidewalk before us. It’s going the wrong direction for the way we’re headed. But I don’t let that deter me. I hop on anyway, the movement constantly pushing me back toward him.

“No. Like drinking bad margaritas, meditating in Terminal B, and racing on the moving walkway.”

“Have you never walked on one of those bef?—”

I turn so I’m walking in reverse, facing him, and grin. “It’s just an added challenge.”

He stops, those thick, dark brows drawing together. “That sounds like a bad idea.”

I drop my tote bag on the ground beside me and lift a hand to my ear. “Sorry, what was that? Did you say that you’re scared?”

“Gwen.”

“Don’t Gwen me.”

A dimple on his right cheek pops up. “Gwenyth?”

“Nope.” I continue taking slow steps back toward the conveyor.

“Gwendolyn?”

I wink at him. “Nope. Sorry, that’s first-date information.”