Read Online Jokers: BBW Billionaire Menage Romance (Billionaire Brothers, II Book 2) by Meg Watson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Meg Watson
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sure is different from riding in a limousine.
I should tell her what I found… Right away. So she can’t yell.
“Okay this is it,” she said abruptly as the cab rolled to a stop. She shoved a $20 bill through the Plexiglas slot and flung her door open. I slid across the sticky, intensely aromatic back seat and climbed out onto the sidewalk, gasping for fresh air.
“He says he's just going to be a minute late,” she said without looking at me. I couldn't tell if she was still mad or if she was trying to fend off my criticism that he was late for the date. “He says just to find a table and he'll be here soon.”
I followed Melita's swishing mane of mocha curls as she flung open the door of the sports bar and strolled inside. I had never known her to be a sports bar kind of girl, but I guess we all change to accommodate the people that we meet. Maybe a sports bar was just the element she had been missing all this time.
She found a tall table with four barstools around it situated between three large-screen TVs showing satellite sports programs from all over the globe. I couldn't help but be enchanted by the Japanese Little League team and edged my way onto the clammy barstool with my mouth hanging open in awe. Those little kids sure can kick a lot of baseball ass.
Melita didn't seem to be interested in speaking to me. I wasn't sure she was still mad about the Gucci or not. Maybe she was mad about my sassy attitude in the cab. Maybe she was mad about a lot of things. I couldn't always tell.
I should just tell her now and be done with it. About the auction…
Her head swiveled on her neck, her cheeks instantly going pinker and her eyes going wider if that's possible. I bit back a smile at the girly way she was getting excited. He must have just entered the room.
Looking over my shoulder I spotted a medium-height man coming toward us in a plaid shirt and worn jeans. His shirt sleeves were buttoned all the way down to the wrist and he was wearing, I kid you not, a substantially-sized silver belt buckle.
Well, yee haw. I guess leaving his shirtsleeves down means he got dressed up? That's nice.
He seemed to see Melita and raised a hand to wave then stopped in his tracks and turned around as though he had suddenly remembered something, or someone had just called his name. I watched the gesture with curiosity, and then sucked my breath in between my teeth.
“Melita…”
“You just keep your opinions to yourself,” she hissed at me. “Yes, he's a little bit country, but I know you will really like him once you get to know —”
She spun in her chair and then hopped off, opening her arms. He came and folded her in his embrace, leaning back and picking her up so that her heels kicked girlishly off the floor.
Swallowing hard, I squeezed my knees together and commanded myself to behave. I was determined to be nice even if it killed me. Even if it killed all of us.
I peered at him suspiciously as we sat around the table. He really was very sweet, never letting go of her hand and stroking her knuckle with the pad of his thumb incessantly. Melita perched her jaw on her fist and gazed at him with the goo goo eyes of a young adult novel heroine.
I nodded mechanically, agreeing with everything he said as the words flowed through me. I could barely keep track of what he was saying. There was a lot of it. He was quite a chatterbox.
After a few minutes he stood up apologetically, tipping his fingertips to his eyebrows in a sort of imaginary cowboy hat salute. I inspected his face for telltale signs and found none. He seemed like a perfectly normal, nice redneck. I could barely believe it.
“Excuse me,” he murmured politely. “I'm just gonna take a moment for the little boys room.”
He quickly gave Melita's hand a squeeze and drew it to his mouth for an affectionate peck. Then placed it back on the table and sauntered off to find, apparently, the room where they kept the little boys.
Melita nodded at me with her
I should tell her what I found… Right away. So she can’t yell.
“Okay this is it,” she said abruptly as the cab rolled to a stop. She shoved a $20 bill through the Plexiglas slot and flung her door open. I slid across the sticky, intensely aromatic back seat and climbed out onto the sidewalk, gasping for fresh air.
“He says he's just going to be a minute late,” she said without looking at me. I couldn't tell if she was still mad or if she was trying to fend off my criticism that he was late for the date. “He says just to find a table and he'll be here soon.”
I followed Melita's swishing mane of mocha curls as she flung open the door of the sports bar and strolled inside. I had never known her to be a sports bar kind of girl, but I guess we all change to accommodate the people that we meet. Maybe a sports bar was just the element she had been missing all this time.
She found a tall table with four barstools around it situated between three large-screen TVs showing satellite sports programs from all over the globe. I couldn't help but be enchanted by the Japanese Little League team and edged my way onto the clammy barstool with my mouth hanging open in awe. Those little kids sure can kick a lot of baseball ass.
Melita didn't seem to be interested in speaking to me. I wasn't sure she was still mad about the Gucci or not. Maybe she was mad about my sassy attitude in the cab. Maybe she was mad about a lot of things. I couldn't always tell.
I should just tell her now and be done with it. About the auction…
Her head swiveled on her neck, her cheeks instantly going pinker and her eyes going wider if that's possible. I bit back a smile at the girly way she was getting excited. He must have just entered the room.
Looking over my shoulder I spotted a medium-height man coming toward us in a plaid shirt and worn jeans. His shirt sleeves were buttoned all the way down to the wrist and he was wearing, I kid you not, a substantially-sized silver belt buckle.
Well, yee haw. I guess leaving his shirtsleeves down means he got dressed up? That's nice.
He seemed to see Melita and raised a hand to wave then stopped in his tracks and turned around as though he had suddenly remembered something, or someone had just called his name. I watched the gesture with curiosity, and then sucked my breath in between my teeth.
“Melita…”
“You just keep your opinions to yourself,” she hissed at me. “Yes, he's a little bit country, but I know you will really like him once you get to know —”
She spun in her chair and then hopped off, opening her arms. He came and folded her in his embrace, leaning back and picking her up so that her heels kicked girlishly off the floor.
Swallowing hard, I squeezed my knees together and commanded myself to behave. I was determined to be nice even if it killed me. Even if it killed all of us.
I peered at him suspiciously as we sat around the table. He really was very sweet, never letting go of her hand and stroking her knuckle with the pad of his thumb incessantly. Melita perched her jaw on her fist and gazed at him with the goo goo eyes of a young adult novel heroine.
I nodded mechanically, agreeing with everything he said as the words flowed through me. I could barely keep track of what he was saying. There was a lot of it. He was quite a chatterbox.
After a few minutes he stood up apologetically, tipping his fingertips to his eyebrows in a sort of imaginary cowboy hat salute. I inspected his face for telltale signs and found none. He seemed like a perfectly normal, nice redneck. I could barely believe it.
“Excuse me,” he murmured politely. “I'm just gonna take a moment for the little boys room.”
He quickly gave Melita's hand a squeeze and drew it to his mouth for an affectionate peck. Then placed it back on the table and sauntered off to find, apparently, the room where they kept the little boys.
Melita nodded at me with her
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