Tempting Meredith (5 page)

A family business. That was somewhat comforting. Charlie followed Emma, and Meredith followed Charlie across the scuffed oak floor. She noticed a few women in the crowd. It wasn’t as reassuring as the fact that the restaurant was a family affair—mom in the back, daughter up front—because like the girls in high school, she doubted she had anything in common with them but their gender.

Emma stopped beside a table occupied by two men and slapped one of them against the back of his head. “Get up. Can’t you see I need this table?”

“Oh, no. That’s okay,” Meredith said, appalled that she’d dislodge a customer to accommodate her and Charlie. “We can wait. Please. There’s no hurry.” Other than the fact that she wanted out ASAP.

“Yeah,” the man said. “Charlie can wait his turn like the rest of us. First come, first served.”

“He ain’t like the rest of you. He’s a paying customer.” She shook her finger in his face. “Move it.”

The two men vacated the table, all the while throwing angry yet cautious glances at Emma. The woman didn’t notice, or if she did, ignored them. Emma swiped a rag over the table, and Meredith could smell the bleach soaking the terry towel. She slipped into a chair that Charlie held for her. It struck her as rather surreal that she was even in a place like this. Never mind that two men had been kicked out to make room for her and Charlie.

Emma slapped a laminated menu in front of Meredith. “You need a menu, Charlie?”

“No, thanks.”

She gave a quick nod. “What can I get y’all to drink?”

“I’ll just have water,” Meredith said.

“Dad makes an awesome mojito,” Emma offered.

“No. Thank you. I’m driving.” She refrained from mentioning that she wasn’t crazy about mint.

Emma raised a brow at Charlie. “This ain’t a date?”

“Sweet tea for me,” Charlie answered, ignoring her question.

Emma pressed her lips together and glowered at him before leaving in a huff.

“You really shouldn’t annoy the serving staff in a restaurant,” Meredith said. “They can do all kinds of nasty things to your food.”

“That’s okay. Emma and I swapped spit when we were in high school.”

Oh, good lord. TMI, but she couldn’t help asking, “Uh. Any other bodily fluid exchange I should know about?”

“Nope. That was it. She was trying to make a guy jealous. Figured I was safe since she didn’t have to worry about me getting the wrong idea.”

“Did it work?”

He shrugged. “She married him.”

Their drinks arrived with a big bear of a man, hair as red as Emma’s. Obviously her dad, and obviously he was there to check out Meredith because he kept his attention on her when he spoke to Charlie. “Gang’s in the back. They were beginning to worry you wouldn’t show tonight.”

“I’ll go back after dinner.”

Emma’s dad stuck out his hand to Meredith. “Guess he ain’t gonna introduce us. I’m Bill Scott, proprietor and bartender.”

They exchanged pleasantries before Bill returned to the bar. Emma quickly replaced him, bringing chips and salsa. “So, Meredith, has Charlie read your feet yet?”

“Excuse me?”

Emma glanced at Charlie and smirked. “Your feet. Has he read them?”

“Uh, no.” Forget surreal. She’d just entered
The Twilight Zone
.

The twinkle in Emma’s brown eyes belied her serious expression. “He’s psychic. Get him to read your feet tonight. He’ll learn all your secrets.”

Meredith forced a smile around her confusion. “I think I’d prefer to remain a mystery.”

Emma winked. “Smart girl. Now, what can I get you to eat?”

Meredith hadn’t even glanced at the menu.

Charlie took the laminated paper from her and handed it to Emma. “Give us both my regular.”

Had he really just done that? Meredith was stunned speechless. Men didn’t order for her. Ever. She was perfectly capable of reading the menu and ordering for herself. She’d never even heard of a man doing such a thing—not one from her generation, anyway. Maybe her grandfather’s. Not even her overbearing brother-in-law would risk his manhood by ordering for her sister.

She didn’t want to make a scene, not here where she was so out of place, where Charlie was an insider. But after Emma left, she said in a low, firm voice, “Don’t do that again.”

“What?”

“Order for me. I learned to read when I was eighteen months old. I think I can handle a menu.”

His eyes widened. “Wow. That’s something. I figured you were smart.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You probably skipped a couple of grades in school.”

“A few.”

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“How many grades you skipped.”

“I finished high school when I was sixteen. I didn’t graduate because the school district was more interested in seat time than competency. Fortunately, universities aren’t so close-minded. I earned my B.S. at nineteen, my Ph.D when I was twenty-two.”

He chuckled. “Guess that means you’re a high school dropout. Makes me wonder about some of those dropout statistics. Do they count people like you?”

Before she could answer, two men, beers in hand, interrupted them. Charlie introduced them then relaxed in his chair and draped an arm over the back of hers. Apparently, word had made it to the pool hall in the back that Charlie was in the building. And either Charlie was very popular or his friends were curious about his date. For the next hour, a steady stream of men and a few women stopped by the table, which meant she spent more time smiling and making small talk than eating. Several asked if Charlie had read her feet. And a couple of them seemed dead serious about Charlie’s psychic powers.

During a lull in visitors, Meredith finally got the chance to ask, “What
is
this about you reading feet?”

He smiled mischievously. “It’s a gift. Like reading palms. Only I do it with feet.”

She choked on her water. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, ma’am.”

“But—”

The lull ended, and she wondered if this was what celebrities endured when they tried to dine out.

Meredith had to admit the food was delicious. Her plate had a little of everything. A taco, cheese enchilada, beef enchilada, tamale and the most flavorful Spanish rice she’d ever tasted. Not like most places, where the rice had all the flavor of cardboard. She couldn’t eat it all, and not just because they were interrupted every few minutes, but she did manage to taste it all.

Emma kept their glasses filled. Meredith figured it was more out of curiosity than a devotion to great service. The restaurant wasn’t rowdy as she’d expected. No fistfights. And the only raised voice had been Emma’s when she’d confiscated the table. After they finished eating, Charlie took her hand and led her down a hall to the left of the bar. On the right side were the restrooms, and farther down another room with a pool table. There weren’t as many people, but the room was smaller so it was just as crowded. It seemed even more so because a group of Charlie’s friends engulfed them. Meredith pressed up against him, and he released her hand and put his arm under her hair and around her shoulders. It was heavy, solid, secure, but just in case he decided to leave her alone with all these strangers, she slipped her hand behind him and hooked a thumb in one of his belt loops.

Much better. She turned her head toward him, hoping for more of his spicy scent and trying not to be obvious that she was sucking it in. Bad enough that she was melting into his side. He felt so good.

He grinned and drew her closer. Her heart flipped over. She’d only met the man three days ago. But there, in the back room of a seedy-looking, honky-tonk-bar-slash-restaurant surrounded by Texas rednecks, her bonding hormones were whacking out.

Charlie murmured against her ear, “You play pool?”

Emotion closed off her throat so all she could do was nod. Suddenly she wished she’d let him drive because she really could use a drink. Instead, she struggled to find her voice and said, “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

Fortunately, with the dearth of women in the place, there wasn’t a line for the restroom. Unfortunately, when she came out of the stall, Emma was waiting.

As Meredith washed her hands, Emma talked. “I want details, and obviously Charlie won’t give them to me. So it’s up to you. How did y’all meet? How long have you known each other? I’m thinking not long, since we haven’t seen you around here before tonight and since he hasn’t read your feet. Why does he call you Doc? And speaking of feet, where did you find those shoes? They’re really cute.”

“We met at the shooting range. Three days. I have a Ph.D in physics. Foot Fetish.”

“That’s a start. Wish I had time for more, but I need to get back to work. Come around some time when we’re not so busy. We can talk.”

Surely Emma was just being nice. Possibly nosy. Meredith couldn’t tell her that this thing with Charlie wouldn’t last beyond tonight. That dinky flip her heart had done, a fluke.

When she rejoined Charlie in the pool room, she slipped right back into his side like an iron bar to a magnet. The crowd around him had cleared some so she could see the game of 8-ball.

Charlie nodded toward the table. “You and I take on the winner?”

“Sure,” she said enthusiastically. She loved pool, had a table in her house, but didn’t often have the opportunity to play. None of her co-workers played, not seriously anyway. Her brother had no hand-eye coordination, and her sister wasn’t interested. Her brother-in-law played an occasional game with her, but he wasn’t much of a challenge and he hated losing.

She studied the play, seeking flaws in the felt or leveling. The table seemed to be in good shape. One of the teams wasn’t too bad, and she analyzed the two men’s strategy since she assumed she and Charlie would take them on next. After the game ended and they’d selected their cue sticks, she ran her fingers along the felt. Smooth, so the play would be faster. Just the way she liked it.

Charlie introduced her to their competition. Brothers. Pat and Rick. Pat silently chalked his cue stick. Not unfriendly. Just quiet.

Rick said, “You’re not much bigger than a cue stick, are you?”

She ignored the comment and batted her eyelashes at Charlie as she reverted to her exaggerated accent. “Can we take a few practice shots?”

He narrowed his eyes as if wondering what she was up to but didn’t question her. “Take as many as you need.”

It seemed as if every eye was on her as she got the feel of the cue, the balls, the table. It was nerve-racking. She refrained from pocketing any of her shots. The first few didn’t go exactly where she wanted, but the last three were right on.

She sighed. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Might as well get it over with.”

“You need us to explain the rules?” Rick asked.

“Don’t we just need to hit the pretty little balls into the holes?”

“Well, it’s kinda more complicated than that.” He went into a long, involved explanation of 8-ball.

Meredith listened patiently and when he wound down said, “Oh, dear. I didn’t realize it was so hard.”

Rick laughed. “Don’t you worry none. Charlie’ll carry you. You gonna break, Charlie?”

“Give me a minute to strategize with my partner.”

Rick laughed again. “Sure thing.”

Charlie put his arm around Meredith’s shoulders and guided her to the hall where it was quieter. “You’re yanking my chain, right?”

“Your chain?” She shook her head. “If you fall for that load of BS, you deserve to not only have your chain yanked but your balls, too.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So you wanna break?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

She smiled and batted her lashes. “Whether the rest of you want to play or not.”

His grin about split his face in two. “This is gonna be fun.”

She suddenly doubted the wisdom of beating the pants off Rick and Pat. “They won’t get nasty?”

“Nah. Rick’ll sulk, but he’s not mean. Might get a chuckle out of Pat.”

They returned to the pool table. Charlie released her and stepped back. She placed the cue ball, leaned over the table and lined up her shot. She broke, and the balls clacked and scattered. The 5-ball rolled into the corner pocket. Solids. She chalked the cue tip and studied the table, planning her next seven shots, including the 8-ball. She loved physics. So precise. So clean. Even without a computer or pencil and paper. She saw it all in her head. Angles, vectors. Banks, kisses, stop shots.

With her strategy planned out, she set her base, feet shoulder width apart, and bent at the waist before bridging the cue. “Two side pocket.” The easy stop shot sank, and she lined up the next one. “Seven corner pocket.”

She banked the cue ball to go around the 1-ball, then it cracked against the burgundy 7—ball, sinking it in the targeted corner pocket.

Ignoring Rick’s groan, she continued, her entire focus on the table. With only the 1-and 8-balls left, she paused and glanced at Charlie. He stood with one hip cocked, holding the pool stick, which rested on the floor. His expression was pure admiration. Her heart flipped again. He was special. How many men would let a woman show them up
and
be happy about it? She really should leave him a couple of balls. The thought made her smile. Yeah. Two balls would be appropriate. As her reward, she’d have a delightful view of his very fine ass when he bent over the table to pocket them.

“One corner pocket.” She missed.

She stood beside Charlie, purposefully not touching him so he could concentrate on the table. But he tucked her into his side and whispered against the top of her head, since the noise level in the room had diminished while she played. “Nice job, Doc. What happened to the one?”

She turned her head into his shoulder on the pretext of answering him. What she really wanted to do was rub her cheek against his chest and slide her hand over his backside. Being this close to him probably wasn’t her best idea. The man smelled so good, she was a little light-headed. “Your reward for being such a good sport.”

Rick didn’t say anything but immediately went to work. He pocketed two balls before scratching. It was a rookie miss, and she knew from observing him he was better than that. Her play had definitely bothered him.