Wrecked (Clayton Falls) - By Alyssa Rose Ivy Page 0,23
What if I didn’t pick up or I said no?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
She laughed. “I already ate dinner, and I only have an hour. But we could do coffee, I guess. Do you guys know the city well? Want to meet at Port City Java?”
“We’ll find it.”
“Good. I’ll see you soon.”
“I can’t wait.” I hung up.
Molly shook her head. “You’re unreal. She must seriously like you to agree to a last minute date like that.”
“I cut it close. She only has an hour.”
Molly turned around again. “You’re going to have to find something to do for longer than that. We’re going to dinner.”
“You mean I’m not invited?”
Ben pulled off at the exit. “Not a chance in hell.”
I laughed. “Just drop me off at Port City Java.”
“Not a problem.”
We found the coffee shop and I hopped out. “Thanks for the ride. Give me a call when you finish dinner.”
“Have fun.” Molly smiled. I think she enjoyed having me at their mercy.
“You too. Don’t get in too much trouble,” I yelled before slamming the door.
I peered through the window, but Emily wasn’t there yet. I decided to wait outside. I glanced at my watch. Emily definitely wasn’t an early bird type. I paced, hoping she was just late again.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.”
I glanced up. Emily looked incredible. She was beautiful in anything she wore, but there was something about the tight jeans, fitted blue t-shirt and cowboy boots that caught me off guard.
“Wow, you should be illegal.”
“I assume that’s some sort of compliment.”
“Yes. Definitely a compliment.” I stopped ogling long enough to pull her into a hug. The feeling of her body close to mine was amazing—she fit so perfectly.
“And here I thought you’d be disappointed I didn’t dress up for you.”
“You don’t ever have to feel like that. I like you in anything.” Or nothing. I kept that thought to myself. “You look cute with a ponytail.”
“Yeah? I didn’t feel like messing with my hair.”
“I can’t imagine ever having to mess with hair.”
“I can tell.” She reached up and tousled mine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I teased.
“No comment.”
I held open the door to the coffee shop and she went in. I followed right behind her as she immediately went up to the counter.
“What’s your coffee of choice?” I asked.
“Just good old black coffee.”
“Really?” I’d been out with girls who liked nonfat macchiatos or chai teas, but never one who liked her coffee black. “That makes two of us.”
“I guess it’s an easy order.”
“I guess so.” I ordered our drinks, and Emily went to claim us a table. I joined her. “Do you like country music?”
“That’s random.”
I gestured to her boots. “Your footwear made me wonder.”
“What’s wrong with my boots?”
“Nothing. They’re pretty sexy actually. I’m just curious.”
“Maybe I do listen to country.”
“But what kind? There’s good country and bad country.”
She took a tentative sip of her coffee. “This I have to hear.”
“Bad country is the easy one to define—anything twangy.”
“Anything twangy?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m a huge Blake Shelton fan. I also love Miranda Lambert and the Dixie Chicks.”
“Okay. That’s reasonable.”
“Reasonable? What do you listen to?”
I took a careful sip of my coffee. It was still piping hot. “Good stuff.”
“Such as?”
“The old classics. Nothing will ever beat Zeppelin. Or if you want something mellow, I’d go for Ben Harper.”
“Interesting.” She held her cup in her hands like she was trying to get warm.
“Interesting?”
She took off the lid of her coffee, probably trying to cool it. “You can tell a lot about someone by their taste in music.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about coffee.”
“Oh? What does my coffee choice say about me?”
“It says, ‘I’m cool, laid back, and awesome.’” I followed her lead, removing the lid from my cup.
“Is that because it’s how you drink it?”
“Partly. But it’s even cooler because you’re a girl who likes it.”
She shifted in her seat. “Why is it different?”
“I don’t know. It just is.”
She shook her head. “No double standard or anything.”
“Just saying.”
“I think you’ve been around the wrong girls.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Let me see. Did the last girl you dated drink hers with skim milk and Splenda?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Because you’re the kind of guy who goes for health conscious girls who are afraid they’ll look high maintenance if they order a specialty drink.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Oh, so you have my type figured out, huh?”
“Don’t I?” She crossed her arms, challenging me. All that did was pull the fabric of her t-shirt tight across her breasts. Yeah—I didn’t need that distraction.
“No.”
“Then