Page 6 of Wild Card

His tongue runs over his teeth like he’s considering whether to answer me. Then, with a shrug, he answers in a gruff voice. “I’m an aerial firefighter. But during the winter I?—”

My palms slap the table as I pitch forward, breasts pressing against the edge. His gaze drops to my chest briefly, but I don’t call him on it. My boobsarepretty damn big and they’re constantly in the way. “I’m sorry, what? You’re not just a regular firefighting hero? You fly actual planes into actual fires and drop water on them?”

“Depends on the fire. And the strategy. Sometimes it’s retardant.”

I can feel my cheeks flush as my eyes rake over him with a whole new appreciation. “So you’re like aherohero,” I say, leaning back in my chair to get a better view of the man before me.

Poor guy looks uncomfortable with the praise. I bet he doesn’t see himself that way at all. He’s all gruff and matter-of-fact. I bet he’s about to say that he’sjust“doing his job.”

“That’s the tequila making you exaggerate.”

I scoff. “Okay, Top Gun. I’m sure someone whose home was saved by your perfect aim and huge set of brass balls would describe your contribution as ‘exaggerated.’”

He snorts and looks away. “You’ve got a way with words. That’s for sure.”

I flip my hand in a rolling motion and tip my head forward in a dramatic bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night.” My head pops up, and I wink at him. “No, literally, I’m fucking stuck here.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, and god, I bask in it. I’m certain that when I sat down, he found me annoying, and now I have weaseled my way into an entirely different territory. Which is a huge relief because I can’t handle people not liking me. That’s the stuff that eats away at me and keeps me up at night.

“And what do you do, Gwen? Is it stand-up comedy? Palm readings?”

My tongue pops into my cheek. “No. But I did go through a tarot phase.”

His eyes roll, but there’s no malice in the movement. “Of course you did.”

I chuckle softly and take another sip. His gaze lowers again, but this time to the tip of my tongue as it darts out over the salt rim.

“I’m a yoga instructor.”

His eyes widen, snapping away from my mouth. “That makes so much sense.”

That tiny critical voice that sounds an awful lot like my father pops into my head.That makes so much sensecould be interpreted in many ways, but years of explaining my career choices make everything sound like a backhanded slight.

It puts me in defense mode.

“I’m really good at it too,” I say, explaining myself. “I have hundreds of teaching hours. Have trained all over the world. I even do contract work with professional sports teams.”

Bash nods, one sure dip of his stubbled chin. “I meant what I said. I can totally see it. And I have no doubt you’re excellent at it.”

Relief drops my shoulders, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Yeah, no. I’m just used to people…” I trail off with a light laugh and glance away. “You know what? Never mind.”

“No, tell me.”

My gaze trails back to the man across from me. The one watching, listening. Really listening. He’s leaned forward a bit, shoulders square, attention locked on me. Like he actually wants to hear what I have to say.

So, with a shrug, I forge ahead. “I don’t know. For starters, I don’t look how people expect a yoga instructor to look.”

His gaze rakes over my body, chin tipping down and then back up. And the only thing I see in his eyes is appreciation. “What do you mean? You look like a yoga instructor to me.”

He says it so simply and with a slightly confused tone. It’s…endearing.Refreshing.

I lift a shoulder, playing his response off casually. “I meant my size.”

At that his brows furrow. Confusion morphing into irritation. “People are stupid,” he grumbles simply.

A happy hum vibrates in my chest and I bite down on a smile. Then I forge ahead. “And then people often sort of pat my head when I tell them what I do. Like,That’s so cute, but what do you plan to do when you grow up?Orbut what about university?Very patronizing. It’s tiring having to justify that what I do has value.”

His brows furrow, and for a flash, he looks…fierce. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but he appears almost offended on my behalf. When he speaks again, his voice borders on stern. “Again, peopleare stupid. Plenty of us make great livings and have fulfilling careers without attending university.”