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Chapter FOUR

Those eyes narrow slightly. "You're the one from that shitty diner over on Platte?"

I flush. "Um, yeah. An old man drove through the front door this morning, and now I need a job. Tyler was there and suggested I come over here."

With a crisp, annoyed gesture, she pulls a tablet from beneath the bar and rips a printed application off. She slaps it down. "I guess you probably need a pen."

"Nope." I pull mine out of my pocket and wave it in the air. I grab the application. "Is it okay if I sit over by the wall there?"

She just shrugs.

It's the usual application and takes about three minutes to fill it out. I'm just starting to wonder if I should ask for Tyler or the manager or something when Tyler comes out of the kitchen with a clipboard in his hands.

The sight of him slams me hard. In just a few hours I've forgotten how hot he is, how the details-those cheekbones, the thick straightness of his hair, the bright-colored eyes-add up to something way more than the parts. That doesn't even get to his shoulders, his thighs, the way he moves, like he's gliding through the air.

I can tell the exact second he spies me. It's like he steps into a column of light-his whole face brightens. His eyes spark, his lips curl into a smile, even his cheeks look happier. He detours from the direction he'd been going and walks over to me. "You came!"

A bubbling excitement spills though me like champagne. My mouth spreads into a grin without me knowing it would, and I have trouble not looking sparkly-happy myself. I find myself caught in his intense, focused gaze, helpless, like he's a magician who has cast a spell over me. "I need a job pretty bad."

"I'm glad," he says, and keeps looking at me. "I mean, not glad that you need a job, but-well, glad you're here. Really glad. After a second, he knocks on the table. "Right. Let me get the manager."

"Okay." I watch him walk away, and for the first time notice he has the best ass I've seen in a long time, high and lean and muscular. It's hard not to stare.

Then I hear my thoughts, and I'm a little shocked at myself. I mean, I do have a boyfriend. Sometimes lately he's not a great boyfriend, but still... We've been together almost two years. That's not nothing.

I see the bartender giving me the evil eye, her arms crossed. Will it be worth it to work here with somebody who hated me the second I came in the door? And the tips won't be as good. She might call Billy's a shitty little diner, but I was making good money.

A young guy, no older than Tyler, comes out. "Hi," he says. "I'm Sam, the manager."

I stand up. He has a head of curly hair and a goatee, and together they make him look like one of the Three Musketeers, which is to say I can smile easily. He offers his hand, and I shake it, knowing I can do this right because Henry made me practice, over and over, until I have a strong, easy grip. He said it shows confidence, and I know it makes me feel confident right now.

"How're you holding up? Tyler told me what happened. That had to be pretty horrific."

The sound of breaking glass echoes in my ears. "Yeah, it was pretty crazy."

"Sit down. Let's chat."

I fold my hands, waiting as he scans the application. "You've been working a long time."

"Since I was twelve."

He nods. Reads the rest of it, puts it down. "Tell me about yourself."

I hate this question. I frown.

"What do you like to do?"

"Read." I look at the books on the walls, and the hunger to devour every single one rises up in me again. But that's boring. "Dance, listen to music." I don't add the last one, garden, because that's about as boring as it gets, at least for other people.