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He blinks slowly and lifts his head from the headrest to shake it. “No . . . well, yes. But I meant . . . happy. You looked that way earlier too, when you figured out the smoothie thing, and when you got in my car and touched the wood like you always do—”
“I don’t always do it,” I balk. “Only twice.”
He shakes his head, smirking. “Every time you’ve been in my car, your nightstand, my island.” His voice heats at that. “I went around my house, putting coasters and figurines and wood boxes everywhere so you’d always have something to touch for good luck. Because I like that smile.”
He reaches over to trace my lips, but my smile has fallen, shocked that he would do that . . . for me and my weird little habits.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can find to say, too choked up with how much something so seemingly small means to me. In reply, he leans over and kisses me. We kiss deeply, thoroughly, and when he pulls back, I can’t help it. My lips lift again.
“There it is.”
I smile even bigger.
“Where are we?” I finally ask, looking at the world outside Blake’s car.
“Down the street from Horne’s. I saw the for-sale sign and figured I could park in the driveway without being too suspicious.” He shrugs almost shyly. “I couldn’t focus to drive safely anymore, not with your mouth on me.”
A big shot of pride shoots through me.
I, Zoey Walker, did that to him.
“Okay, so you think we can drive back out of the neighborhood the same way? Like we’re just two people who came to look at the house?”
I lean forward to look at the house in question. It’s another ranch-style house with a locked gate next to the driveway we’re parked in, cedar shutters surrounding every window, and an iron-framed glass front door. I couldn’t afford one month at this house if Jacob and I pooled our money for a year.
“Needs work. I don’t think it’s the one,” I joke, feigning sadness as I shake my head.
“I have something else in mind. You up for a little double-oh-seven work?” Blake asks me with a daring smile.
“You can be James Bond.” I point at him, and then myself. “I’m sticking with Velma. Jinkies!”
“Hmm, and there goes my idea of your being a ‘Bond girl’,” Blake teases, putting the car in reverse with a shake of his head like my weirdness amuses him. As we drive down the street, he tells me his grand plan. “I saw Yvette, the guy, and a red dog leave in his truck. But he was taking the trash out as we drove by.”
“Okaaaay,” I drawl out. “You’re not planning to break into the house while they’re gone, are you?”
Blake’s eyes shoot to me.
“Are you?” I whisper, horrified.
“No.” He shakes his head as if he’s not sure of that answer yet. “But I like that you’re thinking that way, my little daredevil.” I am so not a daredevil in any sense of the word, but it makes me wiggle in my seat that he called me that. “I’m thinking we grab their trash. Perfectly legal, and possibly informative.”
“Trash,” I repeat. My nose crinkles in disgust. “Ew.”
“Just hit the button to open the trunk. I’ll grab the trash,” he informs me dryly.
“Oh, okay then.” I nod agreeably.
“For someone who literally sticks their hands inside people’s bodies, you’re grossed out by trash?” Blake asks, disbelieving.
I shrug. “Everybody’s got their limits.”
He laughs but doesn’t say anything because he’s throwing the car in park and opening the door. I push the button he pointed out, and the trunk swings up behind me, scaring me even though I knew it was going to happen.
“Hurry,” I whisper-yell. Blake’s taking too long. How long is too long to steal trash? I don’t know, but this feels like it. People in the houses around us are probably looking out their windows, wondering what in the hell we’re doing and calling Jeff right now.
We’re going to get arrested. I know it.
But then Blake is running to the back of the car with two white bags and I hear a thud as the trunk closes. He hops in, and we take off like felons on the run from The Man. Well, no.
He puts it in drive and goes a respectable thirty miles an hour, easy as you please and acting like sugar wouldn’t melt on his tongue, he’s so sweet. But my heart is racing like we’re going one hundred and twenty around the track at Daytona with high octane in my blood.
“Oh, my God, we did it!” I shout, clapping my hands.
Blake chuckles. “Yeah, we did.” The air quotes are heavy on the ‘we’.
“Hey, I hit the button like you said. Fair warning, though, if we got caught, I was absolutely going to say it was all your idea.”
