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The hell?
“Did I answer wrong or something?”
Her eyes widen like she’s afraid she might have upset me. “No, not at all! I’m sorry. Germany just feels a little unobtainable.”
I frown, not sure if I should take offense to that. Does she think because I never got out of this town that I can’t afford a trip to Germany? I’ve got money. Hell, I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. That’s what happens when all you do is work six days a week for over a year. If I wanted to go to Germany, I could. But who would I go with? Mike?
She studies my expression and must gather at least some of what I’m thinking because she adds, “I was hoping your answer would inspire somewhere I could go tonight.”
Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Tonight?”
She tucks her dirty-blonde hair behind her ear and, for a moment, she looks vulnerable—a lot more like what she looked like in high school. “Why not?”
Her answer isn’t really an answer, but I’ll play along. “So, where do you want to go? If you could go anywhere?”
Her eyebrows pinch together as she stares hard at the cup in front of her, spinning the ice around with the straw. “I think I’d like to go to the beach.”
“Okay, go to the beach, then.” Easy. I should be a fucking therapist.
She downs the rest of her drink, and I’m starting to think our boy, Erik, might have given her a triple. Her eyes are glassy, but I can’t tell if she’s buzzed or if it’s just leftover proof that she cried before she came in here.
“No, not the beaches here. I want to go to the Carolinas—or Florida!”
Of course, she wants to go to fucking Florida.
“Well, Florida is pretty far. You’d better get going.”
I was joking, but she nods to herself like my words have convinced her to take the plunge. “Yeah,” she says, smiling slightly. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to go.”
She can’t be serious. “Tonight?”
“Yeah,” she says with a smile. “I think I will.”
“You’re going now?”
She nods.
“Alone?”
She nods again.
“What are you going to do? Ride the train?”
At this, I get a shrug. “That sounds good.”
I shake my head, trying to understand her. “You’re just going?”
She laughs lightly. “Yeah, I am.”
I look her up and down and shake my head. “I’m telling you right now, you can’t travel overnight alone.”
She rolls her eyes like I don’t know what I’m talking about. “Yes. I can.”
No, she can’t. She’s borderline drunk, wearing nothing but a green sundress that clings to her every curve, and the fact that she’s giving me the time of day proves that she has terrible judgment when it comes to people.
Leaning toward her, I lower my voice, my eyes never leaving hers. “Claire, I’m a guy. Trust me when I say you look way too fuckable in that dress to travel alone.”
She freezes, and her entire body seems to turn red at what I’ve said. I hadn’t thought about it much until I said it, but I’m right. She was pretty in high school, but she’s gorgeous now, and that dress—even with her denim jacket—isn’t helping to diminish a damn thing.
