Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [21]
“Being a developer and a smoker.” Asha unrolled her napkin and arranged her knife, fork and spoon, trying to ignore his incisive stare.
“I only smoke on the rare occasion, and being a developer is a job, not who I am. There are good developers and bad developers, don’t you think?” He stretched out his legs and deliberately trapped hers between them. His dancing green eyes were playful.
Ella returned with the glasses of juice, Jago’s coffee and a basket of warm blueberry muffins. “Compliments of the house, sugar,” she informed with a Cheshire Cat smile.
Asha took a sip of the tart juice. “Ella, you never gave me complimentary muffins.”
The waitress howled with laughter. “Honey, what do they teach you children over there in England?”
Asha took a hot muffin and broke it open. “Actually, I went to school in the States more than I did in Britain.”
“What? Some Catholic girls’ school?” Ella snorted. “You poor thing.”
When Jago’s stare once more followed the redhead moving away, Asha almost tossed her muffin at him. “I’d waste a perfectly good blueberry muffin.”
“You’re muttering to yourself and glowering at me. Should I move the knife out of your reach?” he teased.
“Might be a good idea at that, but I’ll need it to butter my toast.” She flashed him a wide, fake grin.
“I think you’re jealous, Asha Montgomerie,” he accused, clearly liking the idea.
“I think you are arrogant and irritating. Remind me never to have breakfast with you again.” Asha knew she was overreacting, and she really wasn’t jealous. Not of Ella. One simply did not get jealous over a vintage Barbie doll come to life. Still, the whole situation touched a raw nerve she didn’t know she had.
Men looked. Men always looked. Tall, short, fat, thin—it didn’t matter how the woman appeared or even if she were pretty—men looked. Only, following her dealings with that jerk Justin St. Cloud, the fact suddenly irritated her when it shouldn’t. Her problem. Nevertheless, the past left her leery of pretty men. Women tended to go after them rather voraciously. Once she had dumped Justin, she’d made a vow never to set herself up for that heartache again.
“Men look. It—” Jago began.
Asha knew too well what he was going to say. “Doesn’t mean a thing. Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” Justin had said the same—frequently. Naively, she had believed him. Stupid her. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake. “Word-for-word.”
“She’s a character—like Netta. Colorful, amusing. I don’t take either of their flirting seriously.”
“No one’s like Netta. She has heart,” she defended.
“She’s flirted a lot more than Ella has, yet you didn’t take umbrage with her. You just joined in the laughter.” He polished off one muffin and reached for another. “Mind telling me the difference?”
Asha hadn’t been piqued with Netta’s come-ons to Jago, instinctively knowing her friend would respect imaginary boundaries, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. As long as Asha had any interest in Jago, Netta might play at flirting, but it was merely teasing and nothing more; Netta flirted as she breathed. Ella was not so respectful of unspoken female territories. She bet anything that Ella would slip Jago her phone number along with the change from the bill.
Evasive, she allowed her eyes to sweep the panoramic view of The Palisades and the winding, muddy river below. The view was majestic; still, her attention was divided. Though she didn’t like it, her gaze was unwillingly drawn back to the dynamic man seated opposite her in the red vinyl booth. She was saved from having to reply to his question as Ella returned with the plates full of food.
Jago suspiciously poked a spoon into the grits and eyed Asha. She stared blankly at him, then in challenge, daring him to try them, so he finally took a spoonful and put it in his mouth. He half-choked, his eyes flashing daggers, but finally forced his throat to work.