She tucks her pad into her pocket. “I’ll be right back with two cups of coffee then.”

When she leaves, Sam leans back, crosses his arms, and gives me a slow smile. Damn, he’s sexy. I can’t let myself think about it, but it’s impossible not to.

His sandy blond hair is still damp from the shower and unruly from wearing a motorcycle helmet. A lock of hair keeps falling over his eye, and I have a strong urge to reach over and push it back with my fingers.

“I didn’t tell you it was okay for you to sit here,” I point out.

“Why? Someone else joining you?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I wanted some peace and quiet by myself. To read my New York Times and drink my coffee alone.”

“I make you nervous, don’t I?” he says. “Want to tell me why?”

The waitress places two coffee mugs on the table and I take a sip before answering.

“All strange men make me nervous. Nothing personal.”

“You’re implying I’m strange?”

“Not strange, a stranger,” I explain then smile at him. “You might be strange too. Probably are. I don’t know you well enough to say.”

“Maybe you should stick around a while and find out for yourself. And since we’re being brutally honest here, there’s something about you that I’ve been wondering about too.”

He uncrosses his arms and leans forward.

“I’m just going to spit it out,” he continues. “If it offends you, I’m sorry, but I really need to ask you something. Right now. Before this goes any further, I have to know.”

Does he already suspect something about me?

My heart starts pounding. I must be the worst special agent in the history of the ATF if I’ve already blown my cover.

“What do you want to know?” I say. “Go ahead and ask.”

“Only if you promise you won’t get mad.”

I relax a little. Maybe he doesn’t know.

“I can’t promise I won’t get mad. Say it.”

“Okay. But you have to be honest.” He leans closer. “Are you one of those kind of women? There, I said it. Just tell me the truth.”

I put my coffee mug down and stare at him.

Big mistake.

His twinkling blue eyes immediately suck me in and break my concentration.

“What exactly are you asking me?”

He shrugs and fiddles with the handle of his coffee mug.

“You know what I mean. Don’t make me spell it out.”

It takes me a minute to comprehend what he is asking.

Oh my God!

He thinks I’m a lesbian.