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“Come on.” I take her hand, leading her to my truck. “Let’s go home and go for a swim.”
“Naked?” she taunts.
I pull open her door for her, shaking my head. “No,” I reply. “Wear the shells. I’ve been dying for the chance to peel that suit off you.”
She smiles and climbs in the seat, and I walk around the car, opening my door. She takes out her phone, probably texting her sister to let her know she’s leaving, and I start the engine, kicking it into gear.
Before we’re even out of the parking lot, she crawls up next to me and starts nibbling on my neck.
“Speaking of suits…” she says, sliding a hand inside my jacket and caressing my chest. “I could get used to this look on you.”
“Don’t,” I warn. “It’s only for special occasions.”
“And I’m a special occasion?”
“I think you know you are,” I tease. “I don’t widen my comfort zone for just anyone.”
I flash her a smirk, not the least bit annoyed she’s flipped my whole carefully constructed, boring world upside down. I’m doing things I wouldn’t normally do just to please her, but she’s also making me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. Some of them, never. I actually found myself entertaining a list in my head today of all the things I want to do with her. Take her to baseball games and on road trips, and I actually sifted through fucking eBay today for 80’s cassette tapes I thought I could surprise her with, like I’ll still be around for the holidays and her birthday next year, for crying out loud.
She makes me excited for everything to come. Whatever that is.
I turn to her, trying to keep one eye on the road and kiss her at the same time, but I just end up laughing.
“Buckle up. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
She plops back on her ass and scoots over, pulling on her seatbelt.
“Oh,” I say, glancing at her, “and I know Mick wants to hire you. You’re not working there. You got that?”
She rests her head back on the seat, staring out the windshield. “Oh, are you laying down the law now?”
“I don’t like worrying. This gets settled now.”
I don’t really think she’s serious, but I like things carved in stone.
She just shrugs. “My sister makes good money. She’s not hurting anyone, and I’m not letting anyone support me.” She pauses and then continues. “I guess I’ll do what I have to do. I don’t really need your permission, you know?”
I dig in my eyebrows, the irritation of this situation crawling up my back.
But then I remember how hard she had to be pulled on stage tonight, obviously deciding that a wet T-shirt contest was not for her, no matter if she had gotten dressed for it or not.
I let out a little snort, remembering the way she protested. “I don’t even know what I’m concerned about,” I say, my voice thick with humor. “You’re a good girl. You don’t have what it takes to work there.”
“I’m not a girl.”
I press my lips together to stop smiling, but it’s hard. I know, I know, she’s a woman.
“And if Dutch or that little prick Jay or any of the guys who work for me come in?” I press. “You gonna be able to wear a bikini behind the bar and serve them drinks, or even worse, take off your clothes and dance for them? Let them use you to get off? Sit in their laps and rub up on them for forty bucks?”
I can’t help but laugh under my breath at the ridiculous notion. If she actually thinks about it and mentally puts herself in that situation, she’ll know it’s absurd.
She turns her head toward me. “Are you laughing at me?”
“I’m saying I know you,” I tell her, evening out my tone. “You and I both know you don’t have the guts any more than I would, so let’s stop wasting time arguing about something that will never happen.”
She faces forward and turns silent, but I see her jaw tense as she stares out the windshield. Assuming I know her mind more than she does is probably condescending, but she’s acting childish, keeping up this pretense. She has more common sense than that, and I don’t like games. She knows she would never be able to deal with those customers, and she definitel
y can’t strip and dance naked. She’d probably be so embarrassed to be stared at she’d break into tears.
