He falls back in his seat. “You haven’t dated in a long time? I find that so hard to believe.”
“Are you saying I’m irresistible?”
He laughs. “Something like that.”
“Well … thanks. But, no, I don’t date a lot. I think I’ve dated everyone that’s not my cousin or a friend’s ex in this county.”
“That sounds … like a cesspool.”
I take a sip of my mojito.
Music begins to play over the speakers. It’s the signal that the night at Crave is about to begin. The entire town that’s of drinking and going out age will filter through here at some point tonight. It’s a fun atmosphere. Usually. Tonight, I’m afraid it’s going to be a giant distraction.
He leans forward out of necessity. Our words would be drowned out if not. But the closeness of his body to mine—our legs nearly touching beneath the table and our hands this close on top—makes it hard to keep everything straight.
He reaches for his drink. His knuckles brush against mine. My eyes flip to his to see a playful, yet mischievous glimmer swimming in the green orbs.
“What about you?” I ask, forcing a swallow. “Do you date much?”
“Honestly? When I have time, I like to see a movie or baseball game or something, yeah. But I’ve been workin
g a lot lately and have had to slow it down. That really makes my brothers happy.”
“What is it you guys do?”
“For the most part, we invest in real estate. One of my brothers—I have four—is an architect. Otherwise, we work in various branches of the family company.”
“Got it.”
He spins the beer bottle between his fingers. “What about you? What do you do?”
“Nothing as fancy as you,” I say with a laugh. “My parents own an organic dairy farm. I work there. I know it sounds like I trek around in cow poop all day, but I don’t. Not all the time.” I grin. “But I really like it, as unglamorous as it is.”
I wait for his reaction. It takes longer than I expect.
A slow smile breaks out across his handsome face. “That’s actually really cool.”
“I don’t know about cool, but it’s enjoyable.”
“No, that’s what I mean. It’s something productive. Something that makes a difference to people, you know? And you work with your family which I really respect.”
My heart skips a beat. Most men think my working on a farm is either disgusting or a way for me to kill time before I find someone to marry. It’s neither. I think Boone gets that.
I shift in my chair. My leg brushes against his beneath the table. His brows shoot to the ceiling before he quickly recovers.
The contact leaves me a little breathless. The look he gives me steals what air is left.
“You better stop looking at me like that,” I warn.
“Like what?”
He grins the most devilish grin. My legs ache as I feel the pressure of his attention settling in the bottom of my stomach.
As I sort the look he’s delivering my way, one thing becomes abundantly clear: he wants what I want. And it’s not a burger.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” he says carefully.
“Okay.”