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He finished his taco and tilted his head, considering me. The jack**s was so handsome and easygoing it made me want to rage. Not that I’d show him how he affected me. I was a pro at remaining icy cool.
Still, beneath the surface, I was ready to throw hands.
“It’s funny,” he said, picking up his beer. “All that power in Washington. Your big job and fancy clothes and degrees. But here you are, still the bad guy. Must be hard, coming home and slipping into second place again.”
Eye twitching, I ground my teeth, working to get a handle on my aggravation. I’d been attacked by a sheik’s bodyguards and private military contractors. Once in a private jet over the Indian Ocean. But never had I wanted to throttle a man so badly.
All the Zen, the breathing techniques, the therapy I’d done to ensure I wouldn’t crack, went straight to hell.
I picked up a taco, giving him a moment to bask in his insults.
Then I threw it.
The corn-shelled delicacy hit him in the chin with a wet slap. Sticky pork slid down the front of his shirt and a slice of fennel stuck to his jawline.
Silence fell over the brewery. Behind me, pint glasses clinked.
The two of us stared at one another.
The taco had barely hit his lap when it dawned on me that I may have overreacted.
Also, this would be major town news before I even made it to the parking lot.
Across the room, a phone was lifted. Dread swept through me. Great. This would be all over TikTok by morning.
Whispers spread across the space like wildfire.
“Taco.”
“She threw a taco.”
“At the mayor.”
#daphneelliot #smalltownromance @theauthor.agency
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