The Haunted_Edit Copy 4-7-17

was different. The way he carried himself was just a little straighter,
with his head a little higher. He was projecting confidence.
“You’re in a good mood tonight, huh?” I asked as we stepped
up to the hostess’s podium.
“Two, please.” He gave her a look like nothing I’d ever seen
before — at least not on his face. His expression was basically
saying, “You’re welcome” for speaking to her. And, amazingly, she
seemed to enjoy it. Her face flushed brightly as she picked up two
menus and smiled up at him through furiously batting eyelashes.
As she led us to our seats, I raised an eyebrow at him. He
grinned down at me. “I’m in a great mood. I’m alive. I feel
amazing.”
The hostess slid the laminated menus onto opposite sides of
the wooden booth, and we slid into place across from each other.
Well, I sort of scooted along. Tucker slid, slowly and gracefully. He
leaned against the wall and brought one leg up onto the seat with
him, his knee bent so he could drape his arm over it. “Thanks,” he
said to the other girl, who flashed a big, flirty smile before she
disappeared in a whirl of blonde hair.
“Okay, do you think you could save that for when I’m not
right here?” I asked as I picked up my menu. I didn’t mean to sound
bitchy, but it was really weird seeing him acting that way toward a
stranger when he never even acted that way toward me. Then again,
I’d probably have smacked him if he’d tried; the arrogance was a bit
much.
He placed one palm on the worn wooden table between us,
his thumb toying with the scratches that formed someone’s initials.
“Relax, Chelsea. I’m just enjoying being out. I was stuck in the
bookstore all day.”
I laid the menu down. Stuck in the bookstore? Since when
was he ever “stuck” there? He loved working there. Or so I thought.
Before I could ask about it, our waitress appeared in a short
red dress and a checkered apron. I kept my eyes down as I asked for
a glass of water so I didn’t have to see how he was looking at this
one.
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