Free Head Over Wheels (Steamy New Adult Romance) by January Valentine

never seen you. Do you come the same time every morning?" I tilted my head.
    "A few minutes before ... sometimes a minute or two after seven. Either way, I have to check in at the hospital by seven-thirty."
    "Well you know what they say ..." What does who say? I was winging it ...
    Half of his mouth curved, like the first day I saw him, and I almost melted. "What do they say?"  He cocked his head.
    Our faces were so close, I could have sucked in his breath if I raised my head, which I finally did. His eyes bore into mine; clear gray, glimmering with amusement.
    I shrugged my brows, becoming philosophic, "A minute too early ... a minute too late ... either way ... you won't catch the train." Great save. Thank you, Grandma.
    "True. Which proves timing is everything." With a curved brow, he smiled and nodded. His elbow rested on the table, thumb and forefinger cupping his chin. "Does that slice of wisdom apply to all modes of public transportation? Now I'll be thinking of you whenever I'm waiting for a cab, or trying to find a seat on the bus."
    He looked so calm, so casual, so in control. Why was I feeling like such a Type A?
    "Mornings are so busy, faces are a blur I guess. But I know a few people here. Usually see the same grumpy faces every day." I took a breath. "How about you? Know most of the seven a.m. crowd?"
    "Nah. I don't have much time to socialize. Not over breakfast, anyway." He winked. "I mean, I know Mike, a couple of the waiters ..." He shrugged.
    "Was that your sister the other morning?" How else could I breach the subject of Blondie?
    His face went blank, his brows forming the elevens I staved off with glycolic facials, and by avoiding expressions like the one that claimed his face after I asked the question.
    "The other morning when we were in line together. I was getting sugar ... you mentioned mocha latte ..." Come on, Jewel. You can do better than that. "The tall girl with the long blonde hair ..."
    His elevens deepened. Then his face took the same troubled shape as the day the bitch wedged her body between us.
    "You're talking about Vanessa."
    "I don't know her name ... well I didn't ..."
    "Vanessa's far from my sister." Rolling his eyes, he chuckled.
    Go on ... my stare, and my silence, both shouted.
    His eyes searched my face, which I knew looked grim. "Vanessa and I go way back. We were next door neighbors ... kind of close growing up. You know, kid stuff and all."
    "Yeah. I have siblings ... and childhood friends ..."
    "Vanessa was a tomboy, always trying to fit in with the boys."
    "Or between," I couldn't stop the crude remark.
    He looked surprised, then apologetic. "She's got a way about her."
    "She sure does. Almost took the tips of my toes off." I faked a laugh that was way too stiff.
    "In her defense, she's been through a lot." His tone mimicked mine. "I'm sure she didn't realize."
    I'm sure she did, my brain echoed, but go on, my gaze said.
    "Her parents passed away when she was fourteen, and she was shipped off to the Midwest to live with an aunt and uncle. Her world was torn apart."
    He was defending her rude behavior ... what ... ten years later? Were her childhood claws still embedded? Was he hooked?
    "She managed to pull her life together though," he continued, almost admiringly, "moved back a couple of years ago and seems to be doing well."
    "That's nice." I so didn't mean my polite words. "Are you still close?" Stop now, before you stick your foot in your big mouth.
    He drew a deep breath, like the world was so weighty, and breathing would ease the cause of the strained look on his face. Sadness? Whatever it was, it seemed like an almost constant shadow, which saddened me.
    "She's closer with my mother. I don't see her often. Just when she stops by the house."
    Great. Vanessa and Mrs. Ballou were tight. Vanessa obviously still had a deep-seeded interest in Indigo, and Mother was no doubt her cheerleader. Better to let the subject drop, like my face.
    I watched the waiter emerge from the