smile. “How was your day?”
He lifts a shoulder. “How was yours?”
I drop my head into my hand. “It was tedious and tiring. I’m grumpy. And can’t wait to get away from campus.”
“I know something you might like.” He looks surprisingly light-hearted.
“Well, what is it?”
“You like pizza?”
“Who doesn’t?”
We drive the short distance to Mama McCalister’s in companionable silence. He parks behind the restaurant and comes around and opens my door. I smirk at him, but it slips into a smile as I check him out again. He looks more casual frat boy than usual today. And either way, “You make a good Southerner.”
He smiles a gentle smile for me, then he helps me over a big crack in the parking lot’s asphalt. As we approach the door, he keeps my hand in his.
He picks a booth in the back, and when a lustful-looking waitress sashays over five seconds later, he orders chicken pizza.
“Chicken pizza? Are you kidding me?”
“What can I say?” He smiles. “Chicken? Pizza? It works. You agree?”
“Hell yes, it’s my very favorite thing ever.”
He smiles again (clearly he is going for a record). “Ever?” He leans across the table. “Even better than my harness?” he asks in a low voice.
My cheeks and neck burn. “That was dirty. Dirty-dealing. Unfair. Scandalous.”
“Wait until you see what I have for you today,” he says.
I’m blushing so much I’m worried tears might spill over. “Not in public,” I hiss.
He grins wickedly.
“Your teeth look nice and white. How was the dentist?”
“I got a good report. A cleaning too.”
He sits back in his seat and I notice, now that he’s not smiling, how tired his face looks.
“How about your other situation? With the... you know... the you-know-whos?”
“The you-know-whos?” He smirks. “Sounds like some Dr. Seuss there.”
“I love Dr. Seuss. Look!” I lift my shirt sleeve. “It’s YOU.”
He frowns and leans across the table. “Is that some kind of code?”
I laugh. “No, this little guy is from Oh, the Places You’ll Go by Dr. Seuss. It’s one of my favorite books ever. YOU is the star.”
The tattoo is on the inside of my bicep.
He wiggles his brows and rests his hands atop the table. “So will you succeed?”
“Yes, I will indeed.” I laugh happily. “I can see I’ve misjudged you. Not only do you read, but you seem to read a variety of things.”
A troubled look passes over his face, but it’s gone quickly. “I’m a Seuss buff,” he says.
“Really?”
“Maybe.”
I give him a curious look, but he just lifts a brow, and I know he’s not going to tell me what he meant by that.
“Do you have any tats?” I try.
“Don’t you want to know.”
“I do.”
He leans his elbows on the table. “I do.”
“Are they on your booty?” I giggle. I don’t know why, but I’m feeling a little silly now that I’ve made my escape from campus, and at the moment I just want to make him laugh.
“No.” He laughs, a low, dry sound, but still a laugh, and I feel like a champion. “My ass is ink-free.”
“Mine too.”
“Yes—I’m aware of that.”
I bite my lip and look down at the table, hoping he won’t notice my face flush. I can’t believe the sex we had last night. I had no idea that it could be that way—and with an almost-stranger.
“Is the illustrious ‘You’ your only tat?” he asks.
“I’ve got one more.”
His brows come together. “Really? It must be well-hidden.”
I blush a little, thinking he’s seen almost all my hiding spots—even in between my ass cheeks. God.
“I guess so.” I lift my wavy hair up off my neck. “It’s right back here, can you see that?” I point to the spot. “Kind of behind my ear.”
He leans forward again, and I get a silly little thrill from being the one to dictate what he does, even for such a small moment. He reaches out and traces his finger over the soft skin just behind my ear, where curving text spreads over the area where my sisters’ cochlear implants sit: ‘HEAR NO EVIL.’
The server arrives bearing bread sticks and water, and Kellan sits back in his seat. I notice that his face looks very serious. Almost angry. As the blonde girl sets the breadsticks on our table, his eyes never leave my face.
“Pizza should be out soon. Can I get you anything else?” the server asks.
I look at Kellan. He inhales.
“Beverage?” he asks me. He means in addition to the water she just brought.
“I’d also like a medium lemonade,” I tell the server. Her eyes brush over