buttload of expensive stuff. Stainless steel appliances and place settings at the table even though it doesn’t look like anyone’s going to be eating soon. There’s framed flowers and other crap like that hangin’ on the walls. Looks like I’ve walked into one of those showcase houses.
But she’s giving me one of those ‘are you really okay?’ smiles, so pretty sure my hand is all she’s concerned about right now.
Again… I like that.
I’m losin’ control over my body. Don’t know how I end up where I do—inches away from her—but she doesn’t shy away. She grabs my hand from under the towel and pokes the skin around the cuts.
“You going to tell me what happened? Or will I have to guess?”
I smile. “You like guessin’ games.”
She shakes her head and tries not to smile back, but fails. “All right. I’ll try to guess on our way to… wherever it is we’re going.” She pauses. “I mean, if we’re still going out.”
“He… heck yeah. It’s your birthday.” Crap. That should’ve been the first thing I said to her. “Uh… Happy Birthday.” It’s a little late now, Brody.
Her smile fills her face. “Thanks.” Then she tugs me outside like the place is going to blow.
“Okay, be honest,” she says just as we get to the car. “Is what I’m wearing date appropriate? I tried to go comfortable like you said, but still… girls dress up for stuff like this, right?”
She’s givin’ me permission to check her out, which I’ve been doin’ since she walked me to the gas station in the rain, but now I don’t have to be discreet or anythin’. Sweet.
And yeah, she looks sexy as hell. Now that I’m closer, I can see how soft her hair looks draped over her rack, and she’s got on one of those big belt girls wear around their stomachs and it hugs her curved body makin’ her look thinner than she is.
“Brody?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I open the car door and try to get the calm cool guy to come out, instead of this nervous pervert who keeps lookin’ at her cleavage. “You look hot, Hayles. And it’s definitely appropriate for what we’re going to be doin’.”
Something in my stomach goes wa-bam! She’s going to love what I got planned for her tonight.
She plops in the seat and puts her feet on the dash. I’m smilin’ like a fool, but everything… I mean all of that stuff I was dealin’ with before I headed over here, it’s just… gone.
“Okay, home fry,” she says as I get in the car, “where are we going?” Her voice is calm and all gangster-like, but by the look of her face and the sexy spark in her green eyes, she’s excited.
And I get excited off her gettin’ excited.
“Surprise.”
“No, no, no.” Her lip juts out. “Please tell me.”
It’s hard not to give into that look, but at the same time, I like the effect I’m havin’ on her.
“Nope.”
Instead of beggin’ and whinin’ like most girls would, her mouth turns up into the hugest of evil grins, and she turns the station on the radio, lands on Katy Perry, then cranks it up to burst your eardrums level.
She’s good.
But I’m not cavin’.
And I shock the crap out of her by bursting out in song with her. By the end of the song we’re both laughin’ our faces off, and that’s the first time in the history of ever I’ve liked listening to pop.
“Okay,” she says as she turns the music down and wipes her eyes, “well played, Mr. Grant. Well played.”
I laugh and try to be smooth about grabbin’ her hand. Pretend to go for the radio, but she sees right through it and yanks her hand away like I’m about to taze her.
Damn it.
“Uh…” She looks out the window. “Are we going downtown?”
“That okay?”
Her smile swallows her face when she looks back at me. “Oh, heck yes!”
She’s too cute. Can’t believe I’m on a date with her. And I don’t care she’s not wanting to, I offer my hand, stickin’ it out in an obvious, ‘hold my hand or I may die’ kind of way. She looks at it, looks at me, then giggles and tucks her fingers between mine.
No suave Faberge—or whatever that butter commercial guy’s name is—but hey, it works.
We talk, and she tries to get me to tell her about my hand, but I won’t. I don’t want to ruin this night by talkin’ about Gabe. And I also don’t have the brain power either since