again.
It hadn’t been utopian, of course. Small schools had the most rigid cliques in the world and were notoriously slow at welcoming outsiders. Still, she’d figured that for once in her life she had time to carve out a spot for herself. And she’d deemed life good.
Then she’d gone and developed a huge crush on Drew Mayfield and everything had turned to shit.
“You gonna just push that around your plate, or are you actually going to eat the damn thing?”
Macy jerked her head up and found Gabe shooting her an irritated look from across the table. “ Excuse me?”
“I asked if you’re going to eat your aunt’s salad.” His gray-eyed gaze traveled her long, lean body before raising to meet her own. “Or are you one of those Hollywood anorexics?”
“Jesus, Donovan,” Adam said at the same time that Grace emitted a shocked, “Gabe!”
“Well, look at her plate. She hasn’t eaten more than three bites.”
“What are you, the dinner police?” She looked him in the eye, the easy charm she’d worked to make her default mode on temporary hiatus. “Consideringyou’ve been at a lot of the meals I’ve scarfed down this week, for all you know I could simply have something on my mind.”
He merely raised a thick, beautifully curved eyebrow at her.
Causing her to expel an impatient breath. “Fine. Here.” Holding his gaze, she shoveled a huge bite into her mouth and chewed. Not as adequately as she should have before she swallowed, maybe, but what the hell. “Happy?” But her taste buds tingled with delight at the textures and flavors and the hint of heat in her aunt’s secret Thousand Island dressing recipe.
“Ooh. That’s good.” She forked up a more reasonably sized bite, but turned to Adam before carrying it to her lips. “Could you pass the rolls?” Then she popped it in her mouth and ate two additional bites before the basket made its way down the table.
Licking a dab of the dressing off the corner of her lips, she shot Gabe a grin as she broke open her roll. Then she turned to Adam to do what she did best when she wanted to keep someone at arm’s length without appearing unfriendly: flirted. Because Gabriel was right about one thing. Pushing her food around her plate while she brooded was a prodigious waste of time.
She wished Aunt Lenore hadn’t invited Adam for dinner, but at least the guy had been one of her few nice dates in high school. Unlike so many other boys in her class, he’d never asked her out expecting herto drop her drawers in the backseat of his car in exchange for a second-run movie at the Majestic and a burger basket at Smokey’s—then regaled his buddies with what a hot number she was after she declined to put out.
The legend of her so-called sexual prowess began with Andrew “Drew” Mayfield, the object of her fervent first crush. He’d been golden to her then-impressionable eyes, everything her young heart considered desirable. Reasonably tall, which meant a guy she wouldn’t be afraid to wear heels with, and fit, he was an athlete revered for his prowess on the football field, confident in the way only a young man with money, looks and outstanding physical ability can be. But she didn’t understand that until later. At the time she took the fact that he rarely laughed for intelligence, and it was the confidence that truly sucked her in, for it had made him stand apart from the usual high school boys.
God, she’d been excited when he’d asked her out. She’d carried a torch for the football star since her first week as a sophomore at Sugarville High, and to have him suddenly focus his attention on her midway through her junior year had thrilled her no end.
The thrill had waned considerably after their date, when he’d driven her to Buzzard Canyon, one of the more popular partying and make-out areas along the wooded draw climbing up from Wenatchee. Not that she’d objected to necking with a guy she’d wanted to kiss for what seemed like forever.
It hadn’t been utopian, of course. Small schools had the most rigid cliques in the world and were notoriously slow at welcoming outsiders. Still, she’d figured that for once in her life she had time to carve out a spot for herself. And she’d deemed life good.
Then she’d gone and developed a huge crush on Drew Mayfield and everything had turned to shit.
“You gonna just push that around your plate, or are you actually going to eat the damn thing?”
Macy jerked her head up and found Gabe shooting her an irritated look from across the table. “ Excuse me?”
“I asked if you’re going to eat your aunt’s salad.” His gray-eyed gaze traveled her long, lean body before raising to meet her own. “Or are you one of those Hollywood anorexics?”
“Jesus, Donovan,” Adam said at the same time that Grace emitted a shocked, “Gabe!”
“Well, look at her plate. She hasn’t eaten more than three bites.”
“What are you, the dinner police?” She looked him in the eye, the easy charm she’d worked to make her default mode on temporary hiatus. “Consideringyou’ve been at a lot of the meals I’ve scarfed down this week, for all you know I could simply have something on my mind.”
He merely raised a thick, beautifully curved eyebrow at her.
Causing her to expel an impatient breath. “Fine. Here.” Holding his gaze, she shoveled a huge bite into her mouth and chewed. Not as adequately as she should have before she swallowed, maybe, but what the hell. “Happy?” But her taste buds tingled with delight at the textures and flavors and the hint of heat in her aunt’s secret Thousand Island dressing recipe.
“Ooh. That’s good.” She forked up a more reasonably sized bite, but turned to Adam before carrying it to her lips. “Could you pass the rolls?” Then she popped it in her mouth and ate two additional bites before the basket made its way down the table.
Licking a dab of the dressing off the corner of her lips, she shot Gabe a grin as she broke open her roll. Then she turned to Adam to do what she did best when she wanted to keep someone at arm’s length without appearing unfriendly: flirted. Because Gabriel was right about one thing. Pushing her food around her plate while she brooded was a prodigious waste of time.
She wished Aunt Lenore hadn’t invited Adam for dinner, but at least the guy had been one of her few nice dates in high school. Unlike so many other boys in her class, he’d never asked her out expecting herto drop her drawers in the backseat of his car in exchange for a second-run movie at the Majestic and a burger basket at Smokey’s—then regaled his buddies with what a hot number she was after she declined to put out.
The legend of her so-called sexual prowess began with Andrew “Drew” Mayfield, the object of her fervent first crush. He’d been golden to her then-impressionable eyes, everything her young heart considered desirable. Reasonably tall, which meant a guy she wouldn’t be afraid to wear heels with, and fit, he was an athlete revered for his prowess on the football field, confident in the way only a young man with money, looks and outstanding physical ability can be. But she didn’t understand that until later. At the time she took the fact that he rarely laughed for intelligence, and it was the confidence that truly sucked her in, for it had made him stand apart from the usual high school boys.
God, she’d been excited when he’d asked her out. She’d carried a torch for the football star since her first week as a sophomore at Sugarville High, and to have him suddenly focus his attention on her midway through her junior year had thrilled her no end.
The thrill had waned considerably after their date, when he’d driven her to Buzzard Canyon, one of the more popular partying and make-out areas along the wooded draw climbing up from Wenatchee. Not that she’d objected to necking with a guy she’d wanted to kiss for what seemed like forever.
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