She cringes. “Definitely not lamb.”
I lead her to a table, and pull out the chair, “Have a seat.”
“Okay,” she sits.
“You gonna be okay?”
“I drank too much. I figured dancing would burn off the buzz, but now …” She shrugs. “I’m a bit …
off.”
“Sit still. I’ll get you some water and food. It’ll soak up what you didn’t burn off.”
Standing at the counter, waiting for our order, while drunk and sexy Kendall Ross sits waiting at a corner table, my normal thoughts are bouncing between: I need to fuck her to who the hell is Moe to how am I gonna make this feeling go away?
I attempt to scold myself, She’s Kendall, for fuck’s sake!
But who the hell am I kidding? This is happening. I just need to figure out how to make it so.
I sit with purpose, facing her as I place her cup of water in front of her. She gives me a small, gracious smile.
“Drink up, little Ross.” I lift my glass. “To chance meetings in extraordinary places.”
She lifts her glass briefly and, after taking a swig of her water, she sets down the glass then wipes away the droplets that dripped down her chin.
I reach over the table and run a finger over the tiny spot she missed. “There.”
I pick up one of the two forks on the tray and hand it to her. “The kebobs are chicken and beef. The rice is pretty damn good, too. Dig in.”
Watching her eat isn’t helping me focus on the task at hand, and it’s not helping me not want her any less either.
When she’s had her fill, she sits back, covers her belly, and sighs. “That was so good.”
I tap my fork on the platter. “There’s plenty more.”
She closes her eyes and leans back. “If I eat anymore, I’ll be sleeping right here.”
“Tired?”
Exhaling, she nods. “First day; it’s always an adjustment.”
“Best to catch a red eye and sleep all the way on transatlantic flights. You land ready to go.”
“We went all day long.” She yawns as she says long.
“And you decided to go all night, too? Not gonna lie; I’m impressed.”
She shrugs. “Well, how could an American girl in Ireland pass up free tickets to see U2?”
I smile. “You thought—”
“I did.” She pulls her feet up on the seat and rests her chin on her knees as she continues, “So much so that at twenty-two years old, I snuck out of my hotel, away from my tour mates, and got busted by my tour guide while waiting for a cab.” She smirks, and those dimples deepen. “Luckily, she likes your band.”
I don’t dance around the question that’s been circling around in my head, but I do ease into it. “Tour mates?”
“Same people I’ve been traveling with—”
“You and Jòse didn’t work out, huh?”