Page 8 of The Romance Line
But Joe, evidently, does. He holds up his hands in surrender. Now it’s his tone that’s awkward as he says, “My bad. I’ll let you two sort this out.”
“No worries,” Max says, in an offhand way. Like the guy just bumped into him on the street. That’s all. “She’s got a packed sked.”
“I don’t,” I say, because he should not be turning down dates for me. I can say no myself.
But Joe is well past the rejection it seems, since he directs his gaze to Max. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but hope you lose tonight.”
“We won’t,” Max says confidently as Joe gets the hell out of my space at last. He disappears behind the counter, then into the back of the shop, out of sight.
I swivel back to Max. He’s got another cup of coffee in his other hand, probably for one of the guys. But other than that—he’s standard Max. Inscrutable and broody. I flap my hands. “What was that about?”
He gives a careless shrug. “You didn’t want to go out with him.”
True, but that doesn’t even matter. “It’s not your job to turn down my dates.”
“He’s not your type, Everly.”
“How would you know what my type is?”
“Not that guy,” he says.
He’s exasperating. “Okay, I’ll take the bait. Why not that guy?”
“He’s a little crass. The bag of dicks thing?” he says, dismissively. “C’mon. You can do better.”
I stare at him, trying to figure out what is going on with Lambert. “Why are you here?”
4
A NICE INTENTION
Max
That’s a really good question. And an easy enough one to answer. I lift my drinks. “Can’t a guy get a cup of coffee or two?”
“At the place where the interview you turned down was being held?” she counters, one eyebrow raised. Fuck, she’s hot when she’s irritated. How is that possible? Witchcraft, I’m guessing.
I look around the massive space as if I’m seeing the exposed brick walls, the dais and the lounge chairs for the very first time. “Hate to break it to you, Everly. But itisa coffee shop.”
“Max,” she says, exasperated. “Why did you…” She waves to where that pushy dude was crowding her but then shakes her head, like she’s letting go of the whole thing. “Forget it. Let’s go.”
Good. The less she asks, the better. I’m not even entirely sure why I pulled that shit other than I had afeeling he was going to ask her out since I walked in, and she doesn’t need that kind of hassle in her day. From the second I stepped in here to get in line to grab a cup, his eyes were tracking her as she helped Ian pack up. He was totally unable to focus on making a latte for the customers in front of me since his gaze was lasered in on my publicist.
So yeah. I butted in. Everly barely needs a defender, but she got one anyway. “Look, if I was wrong, I’m happy to go find him and play matchmaker for ya. Maybe you two can have a nice stroll in the park and a cup of tea,” I say dryly.
She heaves a sigh as we walk to the door. “No, Max. Obviously I don’t need you to set up the date you already turned down for me.”
“You don’t want to date someone in Seattle anyway, do you?” I ask casually, grabbing the door and opening it. “I mean, aside from last night. You had company, right?”
I’m fishing. I’m totally fucking fishing.
“How would I have had time to see someone last night? With mypacked skedand all,” she says, throwing my words back to me.
“So I was helpful, then, to turn that dude down for you,” I say. And I’ve just learned, too, that she didn’t have a hot date last night, which makes me way more pleased than it should. “Bummer that you didn’t get that cake from room service though.”
“What goes better with working late in your hotel room on upcoming publicity plans than cake?” she asks, then quickly types something on her phone. She puts it away once we’re outside the shop-slash-studio and shoots me a serious look. “Why are we having this conversation about dating?”
That’s a fair question too. I don’t care who she dates. Or where she dates them. She vexes me. She pushes me. She drives me crazy. The feeling’s mutual. But it was the principle of it. Some men are just pushy fuckers, and he was looking like he was veering too close to that territory.