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Her, like this right now, is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her.
“Well, well, you are full of surprises. Who knew our little Summer’s got a huge set of balls.”
“Sshhh, don’t tell anyone, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” She’s fucking beaming.
She hits the unlock button on the key fob and the sleek mean machine beeps signaling the doors are open so I can get her settled in the passenger seat.
“Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”
I head back to her shop, grab the cheesecakes, and lock it up. When I return to the car and climb in the driver’s seat, I turn to her. The earlier nervousness has come back; she’s practically plastered against the door.
“Where do you live?” Being in the close quarters of her car, her personal space, could become addicting.
I like it.
Too much.
“417 Washington Street, the top floor apartment in an old Victorian house.”
Turning the key in the ignition, I mumble, “Of course you do.”
This town never has a lot of traffic, it can hardly be referred to as rush hour during business hours, and now is no exception. The roads are empty, which makes it hard to resist the temptation to let this baby show me what it can do.
I’m sure Summer would shit if I did.
On the other hand, maybe not.
I glance over at her as she stares out her passenger window, pretending not to be aware of my every move.
“Don’t we need to stop and get those things you mentioned, like the Ace bandage?” she turns to me and asks.
“No need to.”
“Why not? I don’t have anything like that.”
“Because I do.” I don’t take my eyes off the road.
“You’re going to stop at your place and get them?”
“No, we’re stopping at your place to get your things before we stop and grab some other things, then I’m taking you to my house.”
Here it comes…
“Just a minute. I never agreed to go to your house…”
I cut her off. “I didn’t ask you. It’s absurd to go to your place. You live on the third floor, Summer. God forbid something happened. You’d never be able to climb down those stairs. My house is a single story. If there was an emergency like a fire, and I couldn’t get to you, at least you can get yourself out.”
I hear her take a deep breath. There’s a pause before she gives me one more attempt at an argument.
I know she’s silently fuming.
Only because I’m right.
“Rock, it really isn’t necessary.”
“It is, and you know I’m right.” I pull into her driveway. “We’re here.” I turn to face her. “I can go up and get your things, or I can carry you up. Either way is good with me.”
“I hope you’ve got good lungs because there’s no way I’m letting you go through my underwear drawer alone.”
I laugh. Hard.
“You got me,” I say, “because you might be missing a few pair by the time I’m done.”
She hits my arm. “You. Are. Impossible.”
“On second thought, this might be better. I get to hold you while you play with your panties and bras.”
The look on her face is priceless.
