“Sorry. So sorry.” She handed him a coupon. “Here, we’re extending the already low prices from the trade show to our online store next week.”
He scowled and walked away without the coupon.
Those deep blue eyes were still watching her. She couldfeelthem. Not in a creepy way, but in an I’m-totally-aware-of-you way.
“Sweetie, can you try not to knock over our customers?” Mom said through her own tight-lipped grin. “It’s better for our image if you actually look happy to wear the clothes.”
Bree brightened immediately. For her mother—the woman who raised her on her own, the woman who worked a dead-end job all day to make the bills and then sketched and designed until the wee hours of the morning to follow her dream—for that woman, Bree would do just about anything.
The next hour passed quickly as she handed out coupons and answered questions. She took every chance she could to brag about her mom, the designs, and the clothing itself. And, in all of that, she managed to only check on the growing line of women in shorty-shorts awaiting the opportunity to talk to her bike-man a quarter of a million times. Whoever he was, he was a big deal.
Best forget him, Plain Bree. A wink was just a wink.
Chapter Four
Owen glanced at his Breitling watch. He and London had taken over for Demetri and Torin at the signing table. The stint with the sports drink sponsor was almost over, and then he could find out if that model was the same girl he’d seen on the bike ride.
Seeing her here in Dallas would be a huge coincidence—if he believed in coincidences. Which, as a general rule, he did not. A man made his own path and his own fortunes in life.
Still. That could be her … couldn’t it?
Her hair was the same color of black that he remembered, but she’d let it loose. The silky locks framed her face, which had gone pink at his wink, although it was not nearly as red as a couple days before. He wondered what it would take to bring out that deep of a blush without the heat and physical exertion. Maybe a kiss?
Had it really been two days? The moment he laid eyes on her, it felt as if time was a blink. Like his life was a DVD and it just skipped over the other parts and got right to the events that were pertinent to his story line. Likeshewas pertinent. He needed to talk to her.
“I’m going to take off.” He bumped fists with London Wilder. They had lockers next to each other in the clubhouse. London was cool. He didn’t pressure Owen to talk, didn’t say much himself. He had recently reconnected with his high school sweetheart. If Owen was the friendly type, he’d like to hear that story. Maybe one day.
London twisted his lips. “I’ve got another hour. Be cool.”
“Later.” Owen stood and the handler that allowed the crowd through held back several women who tried to rush the line. He kept his eyes down and worked his way around the back of the booth. If he could slip behind the curtains, then everyone would assume he’d left and wouldn’t be looking for him to pop out a few booths down.
The black, heavy curtains tried to grab at him, tangle him up. He had to push them aside and step with care. A hot knot formed in Owen’s stomach at the idea of talking to the mystery woman. She was all he’d thought about for the last two days.
He took a moment to peek between the curtains. No one was watching so he slipped between the Alaska fly fishing booth and the Canadian hunting booth. Now thatshewas so close, he couldn’t get his feet to move. She was prettier than he remembered. Of course, she wasn’t wearing a helmet. He looked prettier without one too. He ran his hand over his spiky hair and waited for a break in the streaming line of people to dash across the walkway.
He finally landed within hearing distance and blurted, “Do I know you?”
Her forehead wrinkled in confusion.
Shoot, it wasn’t her. But no, it had to be her. Even with the large rectangular glasses perched on her nose, he could see her charming brown eyes.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” she mumbled, and handed a flyer to a mom pushing a stroller.
“Do you ride a black Windsor?” He’d never forget that bike. Popular in the 90s, the Windsor full suspension was still in production, though the newer models were edgy and sharp.
She sighed in resignation. “Only the one time.”
He snapped his fingers while his heart snapped to attention. “Thatwasyou. So, are you a model or something?” She had the thin body type, the kind ballerinas and gymnasts prayed for, but she lacked the height of a runway model. He should know, he’d dated several.
“Or something.”
“Cool.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, at a loss as to how to draw more than two-word answers out of her. She hadn’t said much when she was on the bike either. He’d attributed that to her heavy exertion. If she didn’t say something soon, he was going to think she didn’t like him.
“Here.” She handed him one of the 4x6 glossy pages. “If you’re interested, there’s an online sale next week, but you can get the same prices here and take home your purchase today.”
He scratched at his chin as he glanced over the ad. “I don’t usually wear ladies’ hiking shorts.”
Her cheeks glowed with embarrassment, even as her eyes dragged all the way from his knees to his torso. “I don’t think we carry your size.”