Chapter 8 #2
“Nah,” I say so cooly I don’t recognize the idiot’s voice as my own. “I don’t think it’s proper to sweep you off your feet and kiss you on the same date.”
Stupid. Fucking. Idiot!
What is happening? Has some evil spirit or alien hijacked my brain? Of course, I want to kiss her. I want to kiss the life out of her, take a breath, and do it all over again.
Fingers tangled in her hair.
Tongue down her throat.
My body pinning hers to the side of my car.
But now I can’t.
As she deflates, arms flopping to her sides, I swipe my fingers over my mouth to hide my grin. I have no clue what I’m doing.
She stares at my chest and scrapes her teeth along her bottom lip several times. “Well, that’s a first.”
Of course, it’s a first. No heterosexual man in his right mind would refuse to kiss her. I should just tell her I’m kidding and seal my lips to hers until we’re both blue in the face.
“Well, I was hoping I’d be your first,” I say instead. That’s it. I don’t know who or what’s in charge of my thoughts and bodily functions. What’s next? Will I piss myself in front of her?
“Get in,” I say before jogging around the car to the driver’s side.
Screech!
The wheels in my head grind to a halt, and all I see is Mrs. Rawlings eyeing me with unspoken words. So I quickly turn back around and wink at June, who’s giving me a dead stare.
“Just kidding,” I say with easy confidence while I show off my manners by reaching for the door handle.
“Maybe I should meet you there,” she says, without stepping aside to let me open it.
“Because I drive a piece of shit?”
Her nose wrinkles. “No.”
“You don’t have a car.”
She adjusts her crossbody bag and straightens her shoulders. “I’ll get a ride?”
“Get in. I’ll let you pay me to drive you to dinner.”
“What?” She laughs. “You won’t let me pay for dinner, but you’ll let me pay you to drive me to dinner?”
As a car approaches, I step to her side, putting myself between her and the oncoming car just in case they’re not paying close attention to the road.
After it passes, I look down at her. Her back is against the door as she watches the car, then she looks up with those deep brown eyes.
It’s impossible to pull my gaze away from her mouth. God, I want to kiss her.
I slowly dip my head. Her lips part and eyes disappear for a second behind a blink that’s just as heavy as her breath. I slide my hand along her cheek, and she leans into my touch.
Her delicate, silky skin.
That dizzying sweet perfume.
The tug of my shirt as she grips it.
My pounding heart drowns out the rustling leaves, distant cars, and hum of a lawnmower up the hill beyond my car. I close my eyes and, at the last second, turn my head so my cheek brushes hers while my lips settle next to her ear. And I whisper, “Put ten dollars on the dash. Tip is optional.”
June doesn’t move for a few seconds. Then, as I take a step back, she shakes her head several times, like she’s knocking out the cobwebs. Her expression shifts. I’d say it’s a little evil.
Before she grows horns and bares her pointy teeth, I open the door, forcing her to step aside.
“My damn,” I say.
That hint of evil vanishes, replaced with a snort and the biggest grin she’s given me yet. “Madam,” she says with a giggle.
“That’s what I said,” I say with a straight face.
She slides into the seat. “Sure. Sure. But really it should be Miss.”
My composure holds strong as I close her door. But when I make it to the back of the car, I smack my hand against my forehead. “You’re an idiot!”
After I get in the driver’s side, this POS starts on the third attempt. June clears her throat.
I squint at her, daring her to say anything about my cheap-ass car, the pungent smell of pot (not mine), and other nasty smells (also not mine) mixed with pine air freshener. The air freshener is mine, hanging from the rearview mirror.
“Seat belt,” she says.
“Oh … yeah.” I rein in my scowl and tug at the seat belt.
It’s tangled on the floor beside my seat because it no longer retracts into its casing.
This car is older than I am. A freebie I snagged at the junkyard before someone compacted it into a pile of scrap metal. I had it running in less than two days.
“Stupid thing,” I mumble, trying to work the knot out of the seat belt. When I finally get it fastened, I look at June.
She has the goofiest expression on her face from attempting to hide her amusement.
“At least I have a car,” I say like I would to a buddy giving me shit, not the girl I’m trying (unsuccessfully) to impress while simultaneously playing hard to get. I’m not sure what my game plan is. It’s like a skunk playing hard to get with a white, floppy-eared bunny rabbit.
She curls her lips between her teeth and slowly nods while humming a soft, “Mm-hmm.”
“What do you like to eat?” I ask, pulling away from the curb with some extra gas before it dies on me.
“Food.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“Good food.”
“So like chicken fingers and fries?”
“Careful, Flynn. I don’t know if you’re allowed to sweep me off my feet twice in one day.”
I shoot her a quick sidelong glance.
“You look more like a salad girl. I don’t know where to get good salads. I don’t eat a lot of ‘em.”
“Why do I look like a salad girl?”
“Cuz you’re skinny.”
“So are you,” she says.
“So chicken fingers and fries?”
June laughs. “Yeah. Chicken fingers and fries.”