lipstick or gloopy lip gloss. He found himself musing that the absence of those things would make it feel nicer to kiss her. She would feel . . . really good, he bet.
No. He had to concentrate. “That line would go down better,” Casey said, “if you weren’t laughing while you said it.”
“I wasn’t laughing!”
“On the outside, you weren’t,” Casey agreed. “But on the inside . . .” He examined her, heedless of the curious diner customers observing their exchange. “You were cracking up. Nice try at defending your sister’s ‘artistry,’ though. That’s very loyal of you. I admire that about you.”
“You do?” Wide-eyed, she regarded him. “Aw. That’s sweet.”
He felt satisfied with that outcome. As usual. Until . . .
“Seriously?” Kristen straightened. Her red bra and pert cleavage vanished from sight. “Do people really fall for that?”
He blinked, dismayed. “Fall for what?”
“Your whole ‘I’m so charming’ routine.”
“I am charming.” As proof, Casey refrained from pointing out all the new friends he’d already made in the diner. A less charming person would have gloated about that. “So are you, Kristen. Everyone in the world has a certain unique—”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Incredibly, she interrupted him by miming a talkative hand puppet at him. Her multiple silver bracelets jangled with the motion. She didn’t seem at all surprised that he knew her name. It was possible he’d underestimated her, given that he’d prepped for a sparkly-vampire-obsessed teenager. “You’re wasting your time with that ‘unique’ line, too,” she said. “I’m immune to flattery.”
Casey swept his gaze over her again. He genuinely did appreciate her straightforwardness, her confidence . . . her matter-of-fact way of confronting him while looking improbably sexy in a lumberjack’s shirt and a courtesan’s lingerie. The paradoxes inherent in that left him more captivated than he ought to be.
“No one is immune to flattery,” he said. “That’s a fact.”
“Some people are,” Kristen disagreed. “Smart people.”
Apparently, she had a lot invested in being intelligent. Casey figured he could use that. He needed a shortcut, or he’d be trapped here in Christmasville forever. He glanced across the diner, selected the most immediately brainy-looking person—a man picking up a to-go order nearby—and called out to him.
“Hey, nice choice on the pie-in-a-jar!” Casey offered the guy a nod. “I hear it’s really good. You must be an expert.”
With a grin, the burly customer raised his to-go bag. “My wife thinks so! Some pregnant women want pickles, but my Rachel is crazy about this cranberry-mincemeat pie. She can’t get enough of it.”
“You’re a wise and thoughtful husband to get it for her.”
“Yeah. I guess I am!” Appearing immensely flattered, the man prepared to leave. He saluted. “Thanks, pal!”
Casey lifted his eyebrow and glanced at Kristen. “See? I prove my point. He’s certainly smart. And easily flattered.”
She scoffed. “He’s not flattered, and he doesn’t look that thrilled with life because of you, ” she disagreed. She gave the man a cheerful wave good-bye. “That’s Reno Wright. He got married a couple of years ago, and his new wife is expecting, so—”
“Reno Wright?” Casey goggled. “The former kicker for the Scorpions? The most in-demand, highest-ranked, most popular rookie kicker drafted in the NFL in a decade? That Reno Wright?”
Blandly, Kristen said, “You’ve heard of him, then? He’s kind of a local celebrity. A real hometown hero.”
Of course Casey had heard of him. Reno Wright had single-handedly won several big games for the Scorpions by kicking spectacular last-second, long-yardage field goals. He’d been unexpectedly tough, too. On kickoff returns, players knew to avoid his quadrant of the field or get brutally tackled.
If he’d recognized him sooner, Casey knew, he’d never have
No. He had to concentrate. “That line would go down better,” Casey said, “if you weren’t laughing while you said it.”
“I wasn’t laughing!”
“On the outside, you weren’t,” Casey agreed. “But on the inside . . .” He examined her, heedless of the curious diner customers observing their exchange. “You were cracking up. Nice try at defending your sister’s ‘artistry,’ though. That’s very loyal of you. I admire that about you.”
“You do?” Wide-eyed, she regarded him. “Aw. That’s sweet.”
He felt satisfied with that outcome. As usual. Until . . .
“Seriously?” Kristen straightened. Her red bra and pert cleavage vanished from sight. “Do people really fall for that?”
He blinked, dismayed. “Fall for what?”
“Your whole ‘I’m so charming’ routine.”
“I am charming.” As proof, Casey refrained from pointing out all the new friends he’d already made in the diner. A less charming person would have gloated about that. “So are you, Kristen. Everyone in the world has a certain unique—”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Incredibly, she interrupted him by miming a talkative hand puppet at him. Her multiple silver bracelets jangled with the motion. She didn’t seem at all surprised that he knew her name. It was possible he’d underestimated her, given that he’d prepped for a sparkly-vampire-obsessed teenager. “You’re wasting your time with that ‘unique’ line, too,” she said. “I’m immune to flattery.”
Casey swept his gaze over her again. He genuinely did appreciate her straightforwardness, her confidence . . . her matter-of-fact way of confronting him while looking improbably sexy in a lumberjack’s shirt and a courtesan’s lingerie. The paradoxes inherent in that left him more captivated than he ought to be.
“No one is immune to flattery,” he said. “That’s a fact.”
“Some people are,” Kristen disagreed. “Smart people.”
Apparently, she had a lot invested in being intelligent. Casey figured he could use that. He needed a shortcut, or he’d be trapped here in Christmasville forever. He glanced across the diner, selected the most immediately brainy-looking person—a man picking up a to-go order nearby—and called out to him.
“Hey, nice choice on the pie-in-a-jar!” Casey offered the guy a nod. “I hear it’s really good. You must be an expert.”
With a grin, the burly customer raised his to-go bag. “My wife thinks so! Some pregnant women want pickles, but my Rachel is crazy about this cranberry-mincemeat pie. She can’t get enough of it.”
“You’re a wise and thoughtful husband to get it for her.”
“Yeah. I guess I am!” Appearing immensely flattered, the man prepared to leave. He saluted. “Thanks, pal!”
Casey lifted his eyebrow and glanced at Kristen. “See? I prove my point. He’s certainly smart. And easily flattered.”
She scoffed. “He’s not flattered, and he doesn’t look that thrilled with life because of you, ” she disagreed. She gave the man a cheerful wave good-bye. “That’s Reno Wright. He got married a couple of years ago, and his new wife is expecting, so—”
“Reno Wright?” Casey goggled. “The former kicker for the Scorpions? The most in-demand, highest-ranked, most popular rookie kicker drafted in the NFL in a decade? That Reno Wright?”
Blandly, Kristen said, “You’ve heard of him, then? He’s kind of a local celebrity. A real hometown hero.”
Of course Casey had heard of him. Reno Wright had single-handedly won several big games for the Scorpions by kicking spectacular last-second, long-yardage field goals. He’d been unexpectedly tough, too. On kickoff returns, players knew to avoid his quadrant of the field or get brutally tackled.
If he’d recognized him sooner, Casey knew, he’d never have
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