Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
I smiled. “No, but I would like to get one.”
He snarled his lip. “I hate dogs. And cats. And birds.”
“Birds!” I nearly shouted. “Jesus, you lost me at the dogs and cats, but how can you hate birds, Gus?”
“They poop.”
I waited for him to go on.
Nothing.
“That’s your argument? They poop.”
He nodded.
The waitress came and took our order. I was so discombobulated by all of Gus’s truths that I nearly forgot how to speak. I got my order out and then turned back to Gus.
He was smiling, and for a moment I forgot all about the no cell phone thing. He was handsome, and I had a feeling he had a nice body under that suit. Of course, good looks or not, the guy hated animals.
I was about to ask him something else when I felt the air in the room change. With a quick look over Gus’s shoulder, I sucked in a breath when I saw him. A curse escaped my lip-gloss coated lips.
Gus went to turn. “No! Don’t turn and look,” I said. “It’s my ex.”
“Would you like to leave?” Gus asked.
Okay, that was sweet of him to ask. That sort of made up for the fact that he didn’t like social media.
“No, oh goodness, no. He’s here with his assistant. It’s fine. Everything is fine. No worries. It’s all good. It’s fine.”
I reached for my margarita and took a long drink.
Gus nodded then turned to watch Anson and Lanny as they were seated.
He shot his gaze back at me. Now it was his turn to have his mouth gaping open.
“Holy meatballs, Anson Meyer’s is your ex? The Anson Meyer? The country music singer?”
“Wait, did you just say holy meatballs?”
He nodded and took another quick glance at Anson before he looked back at me. “I don’t swear.”
Yeah, this relationship is not going to work out. Honestly, I’m not sure we’ll make it through the chips and salsa at this rate.
“Of course you don’t,” I mumbled.
“Are we ready to order?” a waitress who was not our own asked as she stopped at our table and stole glances at Anson.
“We already ordered with the other waitress,” I stated.
She looked at me and frowned. “Well, she lost it, and I need your order again.”
Gus went on like she hadn’t just been incredibly rude to me. “I’ll have the number five special. Bristol?”
With a quick smile to the waitress, I said, “I’ll have the special, again.”
After she wrote our order down, she made her way over to Anson’s table to let him know that his waiter would be right with him. Then she turned and giggled as she went back to the kitchen.
I looked back at Anson. Goodness, he stole my breath. He had a cowboy hat on, one of his older ones. I only knew it was an older one because it had George Strait’s signature on it. He also wore a light blue T-shirt that showcased his muscles nicely. I glanced around the restaurant. Not one person—besides that rude waitress—was paying any attention to the fact that he was in here. Never mind the fact that he was famous, he was, by a wide margin, the best-looking guy in the place.
Stop this, Bristol, right now.
“How do you find time to do your social media when you have the tea room?”
Gus’s voice pulled me away from ogling Anson.
“It’s not that hard. I enjoy doing it, even though I don’t do it as much as I used to.”
“Exactly why do you do it?”
“Um. Well, it’s fun. I guess I enjoy interacting with people.”
“You don’t find that you could spend your time doing something more…useful?”
Whoa. Hold on there, Mister. What in the hell?
“Like what, Gus? What occupies your free time without social media and cell phones?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Well. You could go for a nice walk. Paint or read a book. Maybe learn to play an instrument.”
“I read almost nightly, I run every day, oh, and I’ve played the piano since I was eight.”
“You play the piano?” he asked with a smile. “I do as well.”
“My mother had me take lessons early on. She said it was a good skill to have. Anson took music lessons with me; he chose guitar.”
Good Lord. Why had I brought up Anson? Who does that? Who talks about an ex on a first date with the ex in the same place? Especially when said ex is a famous country singer.
That would be me.
“Nice,” Gus replied, a polite smile on his face.
I reached for my margarita and took a drink.
“Did you want a drink, Gus?”
He shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
With a forced smile, I nodded. “Right.”
From the corner of my eye, I watched as the waitress brought drinks to Anson and Lanny’s table. She had an iPad on the table and appeared to be taking notes. Then they both laughed, and a painful twist hit me in the stomach. The way Anson laughed at what she’d said seemed so carefree. I longed to be the person sitting across from him.