Chapter 9
Kodi
“Well, what did you have in mind? You are the one that asked me, after all,” she teases from the passenger seat of my truck, which has never felt as far away as it does now.
Her intoxicating sweet, orange cinnamon roll scent filling the cab of my truck is incredibly distracting as I try to remember what we were talking about.
Oh, right. Dinner. Focus, Kodi.
Digging through my brain, I try my luck. “How do you feel about seafood?”
Her eyes light up before narrowing at me, and her shoulders visibly tense. “What kind of seafood are we talking about here? Fancy seafood or . . . ?”
“Definitely not fancy. That sounds awful.” I make a “blech” sound to emphasize my point, and her small laugh tinkles around me like she’s not used to letting people hear the sound.
If I wasn’t driving right now, I would have hauled her against me for one of those fiery kisses she bestowed upon me when we met.
Her brow furrows in confusion before she seems to decide to go for it. “Then seafood sounds great.”
Knowing the perfect spot, I wait at the light so I can pull onto the expressway. “So, how long have you been in Arizona?” I try for some normal conversation.
“It’s my fourth year. I grew up in Washington. The state. Not D.C. You?” There’s something in her voice that I’ll explore later, but I don’t want to push her right now when she’s actually communicating with me.
“It’s my third year. I hate it. I honestly thought I was being pranked when they said I’d been drafted here. I’m from Alaska.”
The light turns green and traffic begins moving again.
That was something else I had to acclimate to when I moved here.
There are so many people and it’s like maybe half of them didn’t even take their own driving test to obtain their licenses.
Speak of the devil, a tiny little car cuts me off as I merge into my lane.
I lay on the horn, throw my arms in the air and holler, “You could at least pretend to know what you’re doing. ”
Anya snickers next to me.
“What?”
She shakes her head but she’s still smiling. “I completely agree with you. It’s why I avoid driving at all costs. It stresses me out that I don’t have any control over the other drivers on the road.” She gestures to the movie quality traffic around us in a see what I mean way.
Testing my limits I offer with a easy smile, “Well, you just call me when you need a ride, and I’ll make sure you get where you gotta go.”
Her smile falls but she’s not frowning. She looks like she’s in shock trying to find a lie in my features, but there isn’t one. I hit her with an even bigger smile.
We ride the rest of the way in a comfortable silence.
I bolt out of my seat and around the truck to open her door, offering her my hand to exit the vehicle. I’m only slightly surprised when she accepts it without any argument. Once her feet are firmly on the ground, I lift her hand and leave a kiss on her knuckles.
“Alright, let’s go Prince Charming.” Her voice is aloof but the blush tinting her cheeks gives her away.
After approaching the hostess stand, signing a few autographs, and ordering drinks, we’re seated in a large corner booth. It’s only four o’clock so it’s not busy here yet, but it will be soon.
“Are you ready to order?” The waitress delivering our drinks asks me flirtatiously, making Anya’s eyes narrow, to my great delight.
“Not yet, but we’ll start with a new waiter please,” I say while I peruse my menu, not even looking at the woman standing at the end of our table.
She doesn’t say anything, just intentionally stomps away.
Anya’s voice is small when she says, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Wrong.” After our discussion and what I’ve gathered regarding her underlying parental frustrations she has, I know that she’s going to be a girl who requires proof of action more than words. “She upset you by directly flirting with me. Not happening, babe.”
“Babe, huh?” She teases but she’s smiling again.
My voice takes on a tone much more serious than I intend when I assure her, “I only see you.”
Her jaw drops almost imperceptibly before she quickly schools her features and changes the subject. “So, what are you thinking here?” Her eyes skim the menu.
Letting my menu flop onto the table, I jab my finger in the middle of the left side. “I was hoping you’d want to share a boil bucket.”
She looks where I’m pointing on my menu, finding it on hers and reading through the options, surprising me when she says, “I could totally go for that. Which one are you wanting?”
Seafood is my favorite, but it’s too early to dive into raw fish with her. Baby steps. “I like them all so you can choose the bucket, flavoring, and whether you want any spice.”
She becomes intensely focused as she reads through all the possible combinations. I’m fairly certain she reads every line twice as I watch her jade-green eyes flit back and forth.
“How about the number five? It has crab, shrimp, sausage, broccoli, corn, and boiled eggs?”
I open my mouth to respond when a young lady approaches our table with an order notebook in one hand and her pen ready in the other. She hardly looks old enough to be legally working. “Hello! What can we make for you two today?” she asks sweetly.
Anya smiles kindly at her. “We’re going to share the number five bucket with garlic butter and no spice, please.”
When she’s finished scribbling down the order she smiles and makes her way to the kitchen.
My eyes wander back to Anya and I wish I could know everything about her in an instant; I especially want to know what she’s thinking right now that’s causing her nose to scrunch like that.
“You’re not still mad I’m a football player, are you?” I tease.
She barks a surprised laugh, nearly spitting her sweet tea on me, but catches it with her hand at the last possible second. She rips a paper towel off the roll from the end of the table and wipes her hands and mouth.
“I’m still coming to terms with it.” She counters with a wicked grin. “Maybe it’s you who won’t be able to handle me.”
She meant it in jest, but a flash of pain passes through her features, and I realize she hurt her own feelings, striking a deep nerve with what was supposed to be an off-hand comment.
I can’t stop myself from reaching across the table to take her hand in mine. “I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”
There’s a spark of hope brewing in her eyes that I completely intend to nurture into full blown faith, but we’re interrupted and she pulls away.
Usually, one of my favorite things about this restaurant is how fast they get your food back to you, but I was really enjoying the tingles of our bond everywhere our hands touched.
I know she can feel it because she’s looking at her hands like she’s waiting to see blue and purple static coming from them like one of those static electricity light machines.
Unfortunately, today that means there is now a steaming metal platter full of our seafood feast between us. But it also means it’s time to see what my girl’s got.
Will she go for the gloves and bib? Does she know how to crack open her crab legs without demolishing the meat? Does she care to get her hands dirty?