14. Dane
14
DANE
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk.” I pause for dramatic effect. “ Tsk .”
Reese lifts her head to glare witheringly at me. “It’s cold , Kingsley. It’s the perfect weather for a sweater.”
I don’t say a word as she slides into my Mustang’s passenger seat; not until she’s buckled up, at least. “If you’re that cold, pants would be more suitable. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Her attention drops to her plaid skirt, which shows off her bare legs. Before her head even whips toward her apartment, my car pulls away from the curb.
My mouth slips into a smirk as she settles in. “So, where are we getting gas station sushi?”
She makes a show of rolling her eyes. “There’s a revolving sushi place about thirty minutes from here. I already put us on the waiting list.” She shakes her phone. “When we get there, we don’t have to wait too long to be seated.”
“You’re very efficient.”
“Thanks?” Reese laughs.
“It’s either that or you’re trying to end this as quickly as possible. Either way, my ego’s hurt, Reese’s Pieces.”
“It is?” she stammers, sounding so damn worried it’s cute.
“And here I was,” I drawl, “looking forward to spending hours in line with you for gas station quality sushi. Isn’t that supposed to be part of the experience? You’re depriving us of the experience.”
Her head falls into her hands as she groans. “Do you really think I’d risk the both of us getting food poisoning?”
I crack a grin.
“Have you ever had gas station sushi?” she asks me. “Because you are very fixated on it.”
“I’ve tried gas station cheese sticks?—”
“Cheese sticks?” she echoes. “Do you mean mozzarella sticks?”
“That.”
Disbelief tightens her features. “How do you not know what they are?”
“Considering that was the first and last time I’ve ever tried mozzarella sticks,” I begin, voice deadpan, “can you blame me?”
She barely manages to stifle her snort. “I’m blaming you for getting them at a gas station.”
“Hey, when you’re starving and it’s late as hell, those greasy little cheese sticks look mighty damn delicious.”
“I’m assuming appearances were deceiving here,” Reese mutters, resting her hands on her lap, “considering that was the only time you’ve had it. How bad was it?”
“To tell you the truth,” I say slowly, “it was pretty good. I knew I had to quit while I was ahead before I became addicted. Gotta think about my arteries, you know?”
Reese quirks a brow. “Now the actual truth.”
A beat passes. I lift a shoulder in an easygoing shrug. “My dumbass puked it all up into a bush.”
She lets out a soft moan, squeezing her eyes shut in horror. “Oh my God, don’t mention puke before we eat.”
A slight smirk comes to my mouth. “Hey, you asked me for the truth.” I pause. “Now that I think about it, it does look like the plate of matcha they give us.”
“Matcha?”
“That green paste?” I say with a straight face.
“Wasabi?” Reese clarifies with a gasp. “Don’t tell me you actually believe it’s—Oh. Ha, ha,” she deadpans. “You’re just messing with me.”
“Guilty as charged.”
She pokes my shoulder, instinctively holding her hands up to defend herself.
I pretend to reach over to get her back—moving my arm so exasperatingly slowly that she braces for impact—only to mess with my stereo system instead, cranking up the volume.
She waits. I’m the picture of innocence as I keep my attention trained on the road ahead. As much as I’d like to mess around, I want to get to the restaurant in one piece. And it’s fun making her squirm a little.
Soon, after she knows I won’t try anything, she's nosying her way through all the items stored in the glove compartment and center console.
“If you’re going to rob me,” I tease, “start with the twenty dollars I stashed in one of the CD cases.”
“Your car is surprisingly clean,” she observes as she flips through the manual book for my car.
“Surprisingly?” I feign offense. Unlike Marco, I actually stay on top of keeping my vehicles clean. I don’t want to risk anything jamming the brakes.
“I’ve seen some rooms at a frat house,” she explains, and my grip immediately tightens around the steering wheel, my stomach souring at the idea of sweet Reese having her first time at a fucking frat house with fucking Blue Balls.
It’s the least classy place for a girl like Reese.
“You have?” I clip out. Jesus fucking Christ, my chest winds up as a lump lodges in my throat. I release a sharp exhalation and force my shoulders to casually relax.
“Y-yeah. My sister dragged me to one of their parties last year…” Her expression becomes weary and guarded in the corner of my eye. “I’m not really the partying type.”
“Got it,” I say, and the genuine relief I’m feeling right now has me uncertain if I’m happy she hasn’t slept with fucking Blue Balls at his frat house or if she hasn’t slept with him, period.
I choose not to answer that.
When we get to the sushi place, there’s a sizable crowd waiting outside the door. The lot’s full, so I end up leaving my car in the parking structure a block away. Then I wave Reese off when she tries to go halfsies on the all-day pass.
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll be paying for all the grocery store sushi, anyway.”
She shoots me a withering look as we head to the restaurant on foot. “Actually?—”
“No.” I gape at her. “Don’t tell me you’ve?—”
“Hear me out?—”
“Good Lord, Reese’s Pieces,” I gasp theatrically. “Am I about to find out this place gets its fish from a pet store?”
“Just—A pet store?” she splutters, a look of horror flashing across her slender face.
“Am I about to eat someone’s pet fishy?”
“Just hear me out,” she protests with a pointed stare. “I’ve had grocery store sushi before?—”
“And yet you judge me for my gas station cheese sticks.”
“—from a Japanese market,” she finishes. “They make it fresh every morning.”
“Or so they say.”
“They do,” she protests, folding her arms across her chest. “They even include a timestamp on the label with the time they were made?—”
“Or so they say,” I repeat with a sly grin.
“ Dane ,” she grunts, her dark eyes narrowed. “It was surprisingly good.”
“The fact that you chose to mention surprisingly ?—”
“It was good, ” she clarifies with a grumpy expression, cutting me off. “Really good for the price I paid.”
She squarely meets my gaze, silently challenging me to respond. A smug smile tugs at my lips, which makes her eyes narrow.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
With a sigh, she thumbs the high neckline of her sweater. Surprise registers across her face when I reach for the door and open it for her.
“What? I can be chivalrous.”
“Thank you.” She beams up at me, and I find myself staring at the dip of her Cupid’s bow for a beat too long.
Abruptly, I force myself to think about anything else but her while she checks in with the hostess. I manage to go five seconds before she looks my way, and when I’m hit with the sweet impact of her smile, the world quiets. The restaurant fades.
It’s just her .
My throat works with a rough swallow, and I’m granted a short reprieve when the hostess steps around the podium and shows us to our booth.
Before long, we’re seated across from each other. I don’t miss the fact that she sneaks a picture of me, even though I’m not cheesing for the camera.
Gesturing to the conveyor belt, I mutter, “I think I saw that one at a pet store last week.”
Her nose wrinkles as she sets her phone face down. “At least this beats gas station sushi.”
I chuckle under my breath. “So, how did you find this place?”
Suspicion gathers behind her dark eyes. “If this is your attempt to segue into another joke about a pet store?—”
“Not at all.” I make an X motion near my heart.
“Oh. Well,” she begins, “my sister likes to go out.”
“And you don’t?” I guess. It’s not hard to imagine that she’s more of the homebody type. Everything about her screams introvert.
She grabs a plate and hesitates for a contemplative moment. “Not as often as she does.”
“No shame in that,” I say with a shrug.
“Really?”
“You think my ass enjoys being around people?”
Chewing on her bottom lip, she doesn’t say anything for several seconds. “Do you find them exhausting, too?”
“ You find people exhausting?” I grab the first plate of eel rolls I see and make a silent prayer to my maker that I won’t die from this. “I thought nice girls like everybody.”
“You can be nice and still find people… intimidating.” She flushes. “I was never really a social butterfly like Lili.”
“Lili’s your sister?”
“Mmhmm. Sometimes, I wish I was more like her. She just… flourishes in any situation she finds herself in. Meanwhile, I…” Lost in thought, she tugs on the front of her tight sweater absentmindedly.
“Reese.”
Her eyes sharpen with focus. Her cheeks blossom pink. Her fingers go to the purple star-shaped clip keeping her chestnut hair out of her face.
“You don’t have to?—”
“Hide…” She trails off, wetting her bottom lip with her tongue, and I catch myself staring again.
Jesus fucking Christ, is now really the time to check her out while she’s clearly under duress ?
“I mean it,” I say gruffly, forcing myself to look directly into her eyes while I mentally kick myself in the ass. “I never want you to feel like you'd have to hide yourself from me. I want you to feel…” Safe with me .
“To feel?” she prompts, blinking her spiky lashes.
“To feel like you can be yourself without ever worrying that I’d judge you,” I tell her. “Because I’m the last person on this planet who would ever give you shit about a scar when I’ve”—I tap at a spot near my ear—“got a million of them.”
Her gaze goes to my finger, and the genuine concern registering across her face has my chest coiling tight. “It doesn’t make me feel better?—”
“You don’t find them charming?” I ask with a wink.
“Almost every night since we’ve met, I go to bed worried about you,” she admits, her voice so faint that I almost don't hear her over what sounds like K-pop playing overhead.
There she goes again, telling me she worries about me. The pressure settling in my chest feels even tighter.
“You don't have to worry a thing about me, Fun Sized,” I respond.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she whispers, gazing up at me through her lashes. “I care about you.”
Fucking hell. Her sincerity is insurmountable. Overwhelming. All too much. My throat becomes stuck; unable to sound a single word.
“Please don’t tell me that the big bad car guy is too good for that,” she says softly, her lips curved slightly in a teasing smile. I can’t stop staring at her as my heart thumps—a little too hard for my fucking taste.
Too good for you, too good for you, too good for you. The words flicker over her head like a broken stoplight. Not that I need the damn reminder. Everything about her practically screams she can do better than the likes of me.
“Do I have something on my face?” she asks, reaching for a napkin.
“You,” I say, and my voice sounds a bit too rough for my liking, “don’t have to worry a thing about me. Really. It’s almost insulting.”
“Insulting?” she echoes.
“I can handle myself just fine, Reese’s Pieces,” I say, picking up my drink. “I’ve made it this far in life, haven’t I?” Her brows crash together in what appears to be an earnest protest, so I quickly tip my head toward the conveyor belt. “Does that look like a pet goldfish to you?”
She’s quiet again. She keeps her focus on me for a drawn-out beat, and I start to feel itchy while I remain trapped underneath her keen, observant gaze.
“You have nothing to be concerned over,” I reiterate. “I’m a big boy. I can handle fucking anything.”
“Anything?” she echoes.
“Anything.” For emphasis, I shoot her an easygoing grin while I lean back in my seat.
“Anything except having someone care about you,” she says, and I’m momentarily blindsided. I don’t know how to respond to her comment. Or the adorable little smirk she flashes back at me.
With a rough cough, I point to a sushi plate on the conveyor belt. “You think they get them from the pet store while they’re still alive or do they go for the cheaper ones that have already croaked?”
She sighs, shaking her head in exasperation. Then she spares me a tiny smile. “Well, obviously the croaked ones. Think about the profit margins.”
“Gotta offset the cost of avocados, right?”
Her lips shape into a bigger grin. “Totally.”