to sling one of her arms over the back of her chair, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Subtle, much?”
“What’s subtle?”
“Wow.” Her grin was wry. “That explains a lot.”
“Subtlety is overrated. Everyone says so.”
“Well, if you’re going to help me study, here’s what I need.” She held up her hands and started counting on her fingers. “Number one. Read these thirty pages for me.” She pointed to her red textbook which, he knew from personal experience, weighed approximately five pounds. “Number two. Summarize it for me in basic terms. None of that legal mumbo jumbo. And none of that res ipsa nonsense.”
Oh, she was funny. “Anything else?”
“Number three. Type up my outline for me. Number four. Take the final for me. It’s in December. Thanks ever so much. I’m going for a massage.”
“So you want to get through your class with no reading or studying, no Latin and no exam. Does that about cover it?”
“You’re the one who offered to help.”
“True. I’d better keep my strength up, eh?”
His appetite restored, he took a big bite of pumpkin scone. Delicious.
Frowning down at her lemon cake, she tapped her pen on the table.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I ordered the wrong thing,” she said. “What is that, anyway?”
“It’s my fantastic pumpkin scone. They’re out of them, but since you’re sharing your table with me, I can share this with you. Fair is fair.”
“Oh, no, I―”
“I insist.”
He broke the scone in half and gave her a piece. His reward? A gleeful smile that made something tighten low in his belly. Taking a bite, she made a soft sound of pleasure that rippled over his skin like warm bathwater.
“I have a new favorite,” she told him.
“I knew you would.”
She shoved her plate across the table at him. “You can have it. You probably need the calories after your― What exactly have you been doing to get so sweaty? I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Just a healthy workout at the gym.”
“Training for the Olympics?”
“Go big or go home. That’s my motto.”
Sometime during this conversation, he realized suddenly, they’d adopted the same posture. Both of them had their elbows on the table and were leaning toward each other. There was an easiness about talking to her that made him feel as though he’d stumbled across a friend he hadn’t seen in years, but sorely missed. It wasn’t hard to imagine sitting here with her until closing time at eleven or so tonight, chatting about every little thing that might cross their minds.
A clang and a scrape startled them. It was with some surprise that he looked around and discovered that they were not, in fact, the only two people left in the Starbucks. Ashley, who’d been wiping down the table next to theirs, clanked another few pieces of silverware into her plastic bin and straightened the remaining chairs with an annoyed clunk. Lobbying a final glare at him, she took her cleaning supplies and marched through a door to the kitchen in the back.
All of this seemed to amuse his companion, who had a brow raised. “I think you’ve offended Ashley.”
Shaking his head, he took a quick gulp of coffee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She’s into you.”
He took another sip, which was a mistake, given his overheated cheeks. “It’s nothing.”
She laughed and worked on another bite of scone. “If you say so. But I suggest you have your food tested for poison the next time she serves you something.”
“Duly noted. So how do you manage your time with the class and work?”
She waved a hand, dismissing the topic. Apparently, this one didn’t spend too much time feeling sorry for herself. “It’s easy once you stop sleeping. And hobbies are out. And I don’t have as much time to clean my apartment, but you won’t find me crying about that.”
“And what did you do for fun before you started law school?”
“Well, I spent a lot more time with my friends. I read books. Mysteries,” she added, before he could ask. “And I practiced yoga.”
Well, that explained the body. God bless yoga.
“Your friends understand, though, right?” he asked, hoping she might allude to a significant other, if there was one. “They don’t give you a hard time, do they?”
“They do understand. Which doesn’t mean they don’t whine when I miss girls’ night out. But they’re used to it by now.”
“Good.”
“And what do you do with yourself when you’re not working?”
The question threw him for a major loop, probably because he was thirty-one and had no life. He hesitated, thinking of all the exciting things he wanted to do one day when he had time. When he wasn’t overloaded with court appearances, needy clients and a demanding family.
Was such a magical day even possible?
Yeah, he thought sourly. As soon as dinosaurs once again roamed the earth.
“I’m always working,” he said.
Wow. That reeked of dissatisfaction, didn’t it?
She’d noticed. Her gaze sharpened with interest. “So are you a workaholic because you enjoy it or because you can’t see any other way?”
Another tough question. “I have no idea.”
She smiled, and her extraordinary eyes were full of understanding. “You should probably work on that, shouldn’t you?”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Hypocrisy is my middle name.”
That got him. He grinned. She grinned back. The moment lengthened into an interlude so delicious it was almost unbearable.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
He thought about how his day started in the usual manner―yawn worthy―and how exciting she’d made it when he least expected it. He thought about how interesting and beautiful she was, and how she’d already made him smile more this morning than he had in the past week or so, and it wasn’t even noon yet.
She intrigued him more than any woman he’d met in a long time.
A
