“Sheesh. Tough crowd. Tough crowd.” He unwrapped his burger and kept his head down.
Bree didn’t introduce him to the woman across from them, who was plowing her way through heavily chocolinated ice cream and watching him like a bug on the table.
He tugged at his shirt collar. Maybe sitting here wasn’t the best idea. Better eat and get out quick. He snagged a couple fries and said the first thing that came to mind. “What happened to your hair?”
Bree’s hands smoothed over her hair and down the ponytail at the nape of her neck. “What do you mean?”
He swallowed a large mouthful, and hopefully his stupidity went down with it. Whatdidhe mean? “It looks different.” She looked different. Less makeup and a skirt to the floor and the world’s most hideous shoes. Women should never wear leather lace-ups. She probably thought they were practical or some other such nonsense.
“I’m not really a model.” Her cheeks dusted with color.
“You should be. You’re good at it.”
She rolled her eyes. After a pause, she asked, “What are you good at?”
“Football.”
The girls exchanged a look and then laughed.
“What?” he demanded.
“It just sort of figures,” replied Bree. Her friend nodded as she traced his muscles with her eyes. First the girl at the counter, and now this one. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to being checked out, but for some reason, he’d hoped for some anonymity in a town that was used to famous tourists passing through.
“Right. Because I’m big and strong,” he joked.
“And cocky,” added the friend.
“And you are?” he asked.
“Audrey Pembrook.” She reached a thick hand across the table, and they shook. Audrey didn’t wear makeup either. He gave her his name and set to work on dinner.
Once the introductions were made, some of the tension left the air. The women worked their way through shakes, glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes every now and again and speaking to one another without words. The action made him feel like the big black rain cloud hovering over their conversation picnic.
The dining area was still packed with people. A kid at the table across from them pitched a fit over eating his corn dog. There were black-and-white framed photos on the walls of early Dairy Queen drive-ups. A chocolate-brown stain marred the ceiling, and he wondered if someone had tossed their shake too high.
“Did you take your bike out this weekend?” He swiped his napkin across his lips and then down his chin. The beard tended to hang on to stuff and he couldn’t feel it. The last thing he wanted was to be caught with shredded lettuce on his face while trying to impress Bree. Not that he was trying to impress her, but he’d never had to work so hard to fit in.
Bree groaned. “No. And I’m not planning on it anytime soon.”
“I could give you some tips, and I’ll bet if we oiled the chain the bike would ride smoother.” He’d been thinking about how to make her bike better, easier for her to manage so she could enjoy the sport. Bree’s bike was something safe to think about, because thinking about Bree wasn’t a good idea. And yet, he couldn’t seem to banish her from his thoughts. Why was that? He eyed her carefully, trying to work out the mystery.
A knowing smile crept across Audrey’s cheeks, and he felt movement as she kicked Bree under the table.
Bree sat taller, which was hard to do because she had the best posture of anyone he’d ever met. She rolled her eyes at her friend and turned toward him. “May I be blunt?”
“Please.” He liked a woman who knew what she wanted.
“This isn’t going to work.” Her finger wagged back and forth between them. “We aren’t the type of people who become friends. We come from two different planets.”
“Mars and Venus,” he joked.
Her forehead crinkled. “While I always appreciate a book reference, no. What I’m saying is, your kind doesn’t hang out with my kind.”
“Why not?” Not that he particularly wanted to date this woman, but he was intrigued with her outright refusal of him.
“How do I say this?” She took a bite of ice cream and rolled it around on her tongue before swallowing and answering. “I’m that girl from high school that you wouldn’t be caught dead with.”
He jerked away and widened his eyes in horror. “You’re Mathilda Frankenspiel? What are the odds?”