“Uh –”
His eyes lifted back to mine then they went over my shoulder and higher then he paled and he leaned back right before an arm closed around my chest and a pair of lips brushed my shoulder before coming to my ear and I heard Sam whisper, “There you are.”
Oh man!
Then his lips went away from my ear and I heard him ask, “Somethin’ you need?” and my neck twisted and my head moved back to see his eyes locked on Angelo and not in a friendly, “I’m an American on vacation and thus will at all times act like a diplomat for my country” kind of way.
Oh man!
“Uh, Sam, honey, this is Angelo and he bought my drink because I forgot my purse,” I lied as I threw a hand out to Angelo then I looked to him and said, “Um, Angelo this is Sam, my, uh… special friend.”
Ohmigod!
Did I just call Sam my “special friend”?
Before I could spontaneously combust with mortification, Angelo, eyes on Sam, spoke. “I see.” His eyes came to me. “The lovely Kia, I will leave you to your friend. Enjoy your drink.”
Then he inclined his head at me, turned away and melted into the people around the bar.
Well, that was well done.
Sam turned me so we were front to front then his arms locked around me.
Uh-oh.
I was beginning to learn the feel of the different ways he could hold me and this felt like danger!
I took my time looking up at him.
Then my eyes made it to his face.
I was right.
Oh man.
“Sam –”
“He bought you a drink?”
“Sam, listen –”
“And you gave him your name?”
Shit.
“Sam –”
“You’ve got a drink at the table,” Sam pointed out, again talking over me.
“Sam!” I snapped.
“What?” he asked.
“I, well… I forgot my drink at the table.” This was a lie. “And the farewell with Celeste was kind of emotional.” This was not a lie. “So I needed one, like, STAT.” This was also not a lie but what he didn’t know was that he was talking to Luci about stuff I couldn’t hear, but I heard, so I couldn’t get to the one I already had. “And I was thinking about stuff so I wasn’t thinking I didn’t have my purse when I ordered it and before I could figure out how to sign language that to the bartender, Angelo stepped in and he let me say less than you normally let me say when you’ve got something to say and you keep interrupting me.”
“So you let him buy you a drink,” Sam stated.
“I’m not sure it was a ‘let’ situation since it all happened so quickly but, strictly speaking, yes.”
“The word for ‘no’ in Italian, baby, is no,” Sam leaned into me on the last word and I glared at him.
“I know that.”
“So, next time, use that. We’ll look up the Greek word for ‘no’ so you’ll be sure to know how to stop from letting that happen when we’re on Crete.”
“It’s hardly going to happen on Crete.”
“You been to Crete?”
I shook my head.
“Greece?”
I shook my head again.
“Right, well, head’s up, Greek men are known world-wide as accomplished players and they like blondes and, my guess is, they really like blondes with legs that go on forever, asses that, just from lookin’ at ‘em, they know they want in their hands and –”
“All right, all right,” I interrupted him, “your point is made.”
That was when his face got super close and his arms held me in a warning! way.
I was not wrong and I knew this when he said, “Good. Then I’ll take this time to be certain you totally get my point. Italy, Crete, Bangladesh or Skippy’s, I buy your drinks. No other man does. You don’t give them your name to be friendly or at all unless I’m standin’ right beside you and they get where I’m at. Now do you get where I’m at?”
I didn’t answer him. I was stuck at something he’d said in the middle of acting like a Neanderthal.
“Skippy’s?” I asked.
“What?”
“You said Skippy’s,” I told him.
“Yeah.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a crab shack close to my house that Gordo and I hung at and now where Luci and I hang at.”
I stared at him.
He was an ex-football player. He was an ex-commando. Ex-football player commandos hung at bars called “Thor’s” or “Jethro’s Fire Rocket Barbeque” or “Hellhound Roadhouse”.
Not “Skippy’s Crab Shack”.
“You hang at a place called ‘Skippy’s’?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Skippy’s?” I repeated my question with fewer words.
“Uh… yeah,” he repeated his answer with another syllable and a lot less patience.
“Is its full name ‘Skippy’s You Can Eat ‘Em but You Gotta Wrestle ‘Em First Crab Shack’?”
Sam had no answer for that; he just stared down at me.
Then he didn’t answer but instead asked, “Right, how the f**k am I pissed that I go to find my woman and see some guy in her space, find out not only did she let him buy her a drink but she gave him her name and I make myself clear about how I feel about that and instead of her confirming she gets me, she’s talkin’ about Skippy’s and for some f**kin’ reason, instead of me pushin’ she gets me, I wanna laugh my ass off?”
He sounded disgruntled.
Since I didn’t have an answer and I also didn’t want to make him more disgruntled, I decided to shrug.
Sam tipped his eyes heavenward and sighed.
I bit my lip.
Sam tipped his eyes back to me and stated quietly, “No, Skippy’s is just Skippy’s, the best fried crab sandwich you’ll find on the eastern seaboard and I say that with authority seein’ as Gordo and me put some research into that. And no, Skip does not make you wrestle the crabs before eatin’ them. Now, honey, takin’ us back, do you… get me?”
“I get you,” I whispered.
He stared down at me.
Then he muttered like he was talking to himself, “I don’t know if I want her to figure out she’s f**kin’ gorgeous so she isn’t so f**kin’ clueless when a player marks her or if I’m glad I finally got one who looks as good as her and has no f**kin’ clue.”