Which I agreed with entirely. I could go on hours-long tangents about what the country music industry had become. About how far country had evolved from its roots. I didn’t even have any “tractor country” on my playlist. Habitually, I listened to Garth Brooks, Willie Nelson, and Loretta Lynn.
But did I say that? No, of course not, because I had no idea how to act like a functioning human being tonight. Instead I said, “Oh.”
A long moment of silence passed. Eventually, with a smack of her lips, Gwen said, “Yep.”
Get it together, man. What the hell are you doing?
I cleared my throat, eyes on the two yellow lines descending the tarmac. “What do you listen to anyway?” Somehow, I mustered a smirk. “Aside from Surprise Rainbow Kittens.”
She scoffed. “Get it right, pal.Rainbow KittenSurprise.”
“Of course.” Now the words were flowing. “Rainbow Kitten Surprise. Sorry.”
“To answer your question, everything.” Gaze out the passenger window, her breath turned the glass white. “I love jazz. Not elevator music, but soulful jazz. Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, Charlie Parker. I like a lot of newer stuff too. Underground indie artists. But I’ve also got a big thing for metal.”
There was no stopping my snort. “Metal?”
Smile so sweet, so soft, she nodded. “Black Sabbath. Iron Maiden. Metallica, Pantera, Korn. Which is terribly ironic, considering that if I ever met any of those musicians in real life, I would probably fight them in the street for being the type of men they are.” I huffed, and she continued. “My mom listened to them when I was growing up. I listen to a lot of smaller punk bands now. They’re usually better people. Melodramatic, maybe, but they write good lyrics. And I like the screaming.”
“You know, I can’t say that surprises me.”
“No?” She arched a brow. “I seem like the angry type?”
Yes. I know you’re angry. That’s what I like about you.
But that seemed like the wrong thing to say. It didn’t feel like there was a right thing to say. So I opened my mouth, waiting for the right words to spill out, only to choke on the silence.
Gwen chuckled again, fiddling some more under the seat. “Okay, I think your phone is lost in the ether. And by ether, I mean months old, molding garbage.”
“Yeah, probably. I’ll get it later. Sorry I almost hit you in the face with it.”
“As long as you’ve got wet wipes in here, I’ll forgive you.” She held up her finger, covered in some mysterious clear liquid. “Please tell me you have wet wipes.”
“Glove compartment.”
We arrivedat the hibachi steakhouse just after 7.
The line was out the door. Our wait was going to be three hours.
I told the hostess that it was no problem and reached for my phone to call Lizzie.
Standing there in the entryway of the restaurant, shoulder to shoulder with everyone in a fifty-mile radius who had heard about the new spot and was excited to spend Friday night here, I patted my pockets. But my phone was still somewhere in the ether of the passenger seat. With a deep exhale, I turned to Gwen “Would I be able to borrow your phone?”
“You would.” She reached into her pocket and held it out to me. “Or we could just go get takeout somewhere. Eat in the car?”
“No. This was supposed to be nice.” I frowned. “All that time you spent with Liz this afternoon, the least I can do is get you a nice dinner.”
“Take out sounds nice to me.”
My frown deepened.
Damn it, I should’ve just called this what it was. A date. That’s what I’d wanted this to be from the beginning. Hell, for months. Maybe since the moment I’d met her. I wanted to get to know her, reallyknowher, while we ate delicious food and people watched and shared a bottle of wine.
“I mean, unless you have an issue with eating in your car,” Gwen said. “Can’t really blame you. All the mud on yourfloorboards, it is a work of art, but I think a little dash of rice and beans from that Mexican place down the street would really be the cherry on top. Like the final brushstroke.”
I glared. “I’ve seen the inside of your car. You’ve got no right to judge.”
“Okay, I have coffee cups and hoodies all over the place. You’ve got a half inch of literal dirt down there. And decaying food, Sebastian. It’s practically compost. If I dropped some flower seeds, it’d be a garden in a week.”
“It’s an eighth of an inch max.”
“Wow.” She pressed a hand over her chest, nodding slowly. “A man who accurately depicts an inch. That’s humble of you.”
My eyes were still narrowed, but I couldn’t help the half smile across my lips. “Fine. We’ll get Mexican. But I don’t eat it often, so I can’t guarantee what the aroma on the drive home is going to be.”
“You sure know how to charm a lady,” she said, gesturing to the door.
Under my breath, I muttered, “Says the one who emasculates men for sport.”
