“I do?” I try to sniff my chest.
“Not right now. Right now, you smell like a distillery.”
“Oh.” I pause. “My shampoo is coconut.” I toss my hair in proof and his entire expression changes, his face going slack. He drags in a heavy breath but says nothing.
“So I guess this means you’ve smelled me before?”
His eyes dart to mine for a split second, then focus back on the sidewalk ahead. “Maybe.”
“Huh.” I wonder idly if he likes my scent, because one thing’s for sure: I like his. I like hisa lot.
I ponder what intriguing blend of products would produce an aroma of pine and cinnamon—if I stalk the men’s grooming aisle at the store, I’m sure I could figure it out—but I’m interrupted from my musings when he shifts me in his arms again and I start to feel self-conscious.
“Am I too heavy? I can walk.” It’s a halfhearted offer that fools no one.
His look is pure scorn. “Please.”
“I know I’m not exactly the daintiest gal around, even if you do make everyone else seem tiny by comparison.”
“You’re dainty enough. Thoughdaintyprobably isn’t the word I’d use to describe you.”
“Ooh, howwouldyou describe me then? This should be good.”
A devilish grin climbs his face. “The words that come to mind aren’t appropriate to say in front of a lady.”
I smack him upside the head and he laughs.
“Fine, I’ll do you first.” I squint at him as if I’m thinking hard. “Let’s see, you are big. Manly. Annoyingly smart. Hilarious.”
He looks at me sharply, but when I take notice and stop speaking, he faces forward again.Interesting.I monitor his expression closely as I continue.
“You’re maddening. Overprotective. Disciplined. Misguided. Incorrigible. Entertaining.” I purse my lips. “Secretive.”
His eyes flare a bit on that one.Curiouser and curiouser.
“And one more I just learned tonight. Kind.”
This time when his arms tighten around me, it almost feels possessive.
The silence is deafening. “What do you think? How’d I do?” I bounce in his arms, an eager little perfectionist craving validation.
He swallows and I watch the movement of his throat up close. “I think... that was a lot of big words for someone who’s inebriated.” Hisvoice has dropped an octave and it comes out sounding husky and rough, like he’s just woken up.
“Ooh, inebriated. Look at you with the SAT words! And here I thought you were only good at math.”
He rolls his eyes.
“All right, do me now.” He clears his throat and I wonder if he also noticed my unintentional double entendre.
He goes quiet, and all I can hear are the night sounds around us: the occasional car whipping by, a dog barking, the blare of a faraway car horn.Hurry up, hurry up,I prod in a mental gallop. We’re approaching my block and I don’t want to run out of time. My liquid courage has given us a fleeting window of opportunity for candor, and now I’m desperate to hear what hereallythinks of me.
“Kate, you are headstrong. Clever. Competitive. Determined. Distracting.” His voice does something funny on this one, catches, and he shakes his head slightly as if to clear it. “You’re tough. Humorous. Reckless.”
He glances at me, his gaze lingering on mine for the briefest of moments, and the look in his eyes makes my breath hitch. It’s as if he’s considering something, and whatever he sees in my eyes gives him his answer.
“Striking.” He says it with finality, the word echoing around us like a sonic boom.
What doesstrikingmean? Attractive? Beautiful, even? Or just memorable? That I stand out, but in a bad way? I stare at him as I attempt to puzzle this out, but I’m distracted from further analysis when my apartment building comes into view.
