TAG by Shari J. Ryan Read Free Book Online Page B

at repentance for making me suffer alone. Maybe he thinks it makes me look at him as less of an asshole for the life he’s given our family. I can’t be bought, though. “I can pay for my own food,” I grumble in Tango’s direction.
    “Daddy’s orders, princess.” He hands the woman the card and says, “Add a large pastrami with cheese and sauerkraut. Oh, and a large soda.”
    She takes the card from his hand as her eyes linger on his face. Her puffy cheeks turn a rosy red and the lines around her lips tighten while she fights the urge to smile at the Incredible Hulk.
    “Small roast beef with the works, large pastrami with cheese and sauerkraut, with a watta and soda,” she yells into the kitchen with a thick Boston accent. It makes me want to laugh, but I realize that wouldn’t go over well in a crowded shop full of other Bostonians. “You two aren’t from around hea, are ya?”
    “California,” I say.
    “Missouri,” he says.
    So, he won’t give me any answers, but a lady at the sandwich shop asks him something and he answers right away. He’s definitely being an ass to me.
    She turns around, pulls the two plates off the counter, and hands them to my boyfriend-looking bodyguard. I snag my plate from his hand and drop down into the nearest seat. He slides in across from me, and his knees knock into mine under the table. He doesn’t apologize or excuse himself. He just smiles and laughs softly—it weakens me a bit. But then my mouth takes over with its automatic reaction.
    “Excuse you?” I snap.
    “I didn’t do anything?” he retorts, completely unaffected by my attitude.
    “You just knocked your legs into my knees.”
    “It wasn’t an accident. Why would I say sorry?” he laughs. “You should really calm that temper of yours.”
    “And you should learn some manners,” I respond.
    I knock my knees back into his and momentarily have the desire to keep them there, not minding the warm feeling it causes in my belly. But instead, I slide out of the booth. I carry my plate over to the counter and plop down on a stool. “You can watch me from over there, I’m sure.” I might be laying it on too thick, but I don’t know how else to lay it on. “Excuse me,” I say to one of the waitresses behind the counter. “May I have a knife to cut my sandwich, please?”
    “Of course,” the waitress responds as she places it down beside my plate.
    I place my elbow down on the bar and rest my head in my hand. Some days, I wish Dad would disappear and leave me with a life of my own, rather than in the coattails of this fucking career he chose for himself. I didn’t choose this shit. No one ever asked me if I wanted to be followed around my entire life. Dad was the cause of Krissy’s death, and he’s out there carrying on with what he does best. Well, now it’s only me. My life will always be under some kind of microscope because of him. But Tango, he’s pretty much the fucking icing on top. To send me an amazingly hot man to ogle, only to be informed that he’s my new babysitter, is pretty screwed up. It’s like Dad wants me to be miserable.
    Tango doesn’t take a hint. He sits on the stool beside me and twists the chair so his knees are only an inch from my right thigh. His proximity is making me uncomfortable, but not in the worst way. Then again, yes, it is the worst way. He’s making me uncomfortable. People aren’t allowed to have that affect on me. “Look, maybe we aren’t getting off to a great start,” he says, shoving a fry into his mouth. “I’m doing my job. We both know that. But people still make friends at work. You know?” He sounds serious, which makes me realize he has no idea how unlikely a friendship would be with me.
    I tip my water bottle into my mouth and take a long swig, looking into his eyes, trying to read him. I pull the bottle from my lips, making a slight popping sound, and look back at my plate of food. “Why do you want to be my friend, Tango?” I ask in all