As Claire laughed, Aidan just mumbled a few unintelligible words and sped through the intersection.
Twenty minutes later, they were seated in a red vinyl booth at a family-style diner near the harbor, with Claire and Aidan on one side, Dylan on the other. After a perky blonde waitress took their orders, Claire glanced at Aidan.
“I keep forgetting to ask you, but why did you leave Chicago? Did you get stationed here?”
He shook his head. “No, my dad and I moved here when I was a teenager. He owns an architecture firm in Chicago, but he wanted to open a second branch on the West Coast. After high school, I joined the navy and made San Diego my home. Dad stuck around for five years or so to get the new office off the ground, then left it in the hands of his second-in-command and went back to Chicago.”
“So what is it you do on the base? What’s your rank?”
“Lieutenant junior grade.”
“And the job description part?” she pressed when he didn’t expand.
His dark eyes grew shuttered. “Naval intelligence.”
“Okay…which means…?”
On the other side of the booth, Dylan rolled his eyes. “Honey, he does a lot of super-secret intelligence stuff that he’s not allowed to talk about. I don’t even bother to ask anymore because I know I’ll just get the same vague non-answer.”
She laughed. “Fine, then I won’t ask either. Hear that, Aidan? You can continue your super-secret life in peace.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said dryly. “I appreciate that.”
As they waited for their food, the subject changed to the holidays again, and Dylan’s expression turned glum. “I’ve decided not to talk to my mom about the money shit until after the New Year. The holidays are her favorite time of year. I don’t want to upset her.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Claire said.
It still angered her that Chris and Shanna had withheld such important information from him. If she’d known Chris had been lying to her about Dylan having complete knowledge of the situation, she would have rectified that a long time ago. Dylan should have been told that his mother had been spiraling out of control, and now that she knew him better, she had no doubt he would’ve done everything in his power to help Shanna.
“So you’re going to spend Christmas with her then?” she asked.
“Actually, no.”
Both she and Aidan looked at him in surprise. “Since when?” Aidan demanded.
“Since she called me this morning and told me she got invited to spend the week in Palm Springs with one of the ladies from her gardening club.” Dylan shrugged. “I told her to go. With Chris out of town, it would be just the two of us, and I’d rather she have some fun with her friend, considering what a tough year she’s had.”
“Here you go, guys.” The waitress strolled up to their table juggling three plates in her hands.
She served Claire and Aidan without comment, but when she set Dylan’s plate in front of him, her entire demeanor changed. Suddenly she was toying with a strand of her hair and smiling prettily at him.
“Is there anything else I can get you?”
Claire’s body stiffened. The waitress might as well have added, “Like me, perhaps?” She was blatantly ogling Dylan like he was a yummy meal and she couldn’t wait to dig in.
Hands off, bee-otch.
The streak of possessiveness that shot through Claire’s body was unexpected, not to mention unwelcome, and she received a great amount of satisfaction when Dylan barely glanced at the blonde and said, “Naah, I’m good.”
Noticeably disappointed, the waitress flounced off.
The moment she was gone, Aidan cast Claire a sidelong look. “I felt that,” he murmured.
“Felt what?”
“Yeah, felt what?” Dylan chimed in.
A slow grin curved Aidan’s mouth. “Little Miss Claire got all tense when that chick was flirting with you.”
Dylan turned to her in extreme fascination. “Is that so?”
As usual, Claire’s cheeks flamed up. “I did not.”
“Yes, you did,” Aidan said cheerfully.
“Fine, so maybe I did. But that’s because she was practically undressing him with her eyes,” she grumbled. “It was very rude.”
“Yeah, I’m sure your RoboCop shoulders were a direct result of the waitress’s bad manners.” Grinning, Aidan picked up his knife and fork and sliced off a piece of the vegetable omelet he’d ordered.
“Made you jealous, huh?” Equally amused, Dylan dug into his own meal—a greasy bacon, egg and sausage combo that would probably give him cardiac arrest on the way home.
Claire gritted her teeth, grabbed the maple syrup container and dumped a generous amount of syrup on her stack of fluffy pancakes.
“That’s a lot of syrup,” Dylan remarked as he watched her pour.
Aidan nodded in agreement. “Careful, sweetheart, you don’t want your fingers to get all sticky.”
He said the word sticky in the most seductive tone, and a rush of heat traveled straight to her core.
Ignoring them both, she picked up her utensils and started eating.
“Aw, look at that blush, Aid. We’re making her mad.”
“Or turning her on,” Aidan countered.
Her thighs involuntarily squeezed together.
“Hmmm. Probably a little bit of both, I guess.”
“Naah, she’s not mad. That shade of red means annoyed.”