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Leaning up against a tree once I’m out front, I pull out my phone from my back pocket, a thought suddenly crossing my mind.
Me: You know, it never occurred to me to ask if you’re a serial killer or planning to kidnap me.
Boyd’s reply is immediate.
Boyd: I promise I’m not a serial killer.
Me: Oooooooh, okay. Now I believe you. Because all of your type are such upstanding citizens, unable to craft lies to accomplish your dirty deeds.
Boyd: My type?
Me: You know, the kidnapper, serial killer variety.
Boyd: I never said I wasn’t a kidnapper. I said I wasn’t a serial killer.
Me: Oh, so you’ll steal me away but won’t kill me?
Boyd: Exactly.
Me: Thanks for the reassurance. I feel so safe now.
Boyd: You’re starting to sound like you’re actually worried I’m a murderer. If you want, you can check my LinkedIn profile.
Me: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Boyd: What?
Me: LinkedIn. You’re harmless.
Boyd sends me a GIF of someone sticking their tongue out and then tells me he’s leaving his house and will be pulling up soon.
My stomach fills with the fluttering of a million butterflies, my sudden nerves catching me off guard.
It worries me a little bit that I’m feeling this emotional rush, this sudden flickering anxiousness at spending the evening with Boyd.
In real life, I date for fun. For the enjoyment of going out and flirting and being at the center of a man’s attention. I can’t remember the last time I was actually nervous.
I guess it’s because all of my previous dates were with men I knew would be fun for a little while, people I could enjoy for a few hours, maybe a few dates, and that’s it. No emotions, no drama, no disappointment at the end.
But Boyd’s the kind of man that makes a woman think about the future, think about more, think about wanting. In my experience, those are dangerous feelings, risky in a way I’ve never thought was worth it.
Which is why I’m startled by the fact that, as overwhelming as this feeling is, I’m not willing to push it to the side just yet.
chapter seven
Ruby
Only a few minutes go by before a beat-up blue truck stops in front of me, Boyd at the wheel with a huge smile on his face.
“Hello there, Miss Ruby,” he says, flashing me that gorgeous smile. “I’m here to kidnap you.”
“Mr. Mitchell,” I reply, giving him a big smile as I climb into the cab, my arms and legs working together to hoist me up and onto the bench seat. “Consider me held hostage.”
He lets out a laugh, and I love the way his voice sends a zing through my body, lighting my veins on fire.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
“Fancy, indeed.” His eyes sweep me up and down. “I didn’t realize how long your hair is,” he says, reaching out and touching the ends of the long tresses that hang in soft waves around my shoulders.
