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I almost wish he was wearing his hoodie.
His sweet-smelling, soft and cozy, white hoodie. The thing that takes some edge off his sharpness.
But a second later, I’m not even thinking about his hoodie.
I’m thinking about something else. Because my eyes fall on a different bright white thing.
His Mustang.
His baby.
Oh, it’s back.
His baby is back and she looks good.
She looks exactly like she did before I tried to destroy her.
And oh my God, I’m so relieved that I can’t help but say, “Your baby looks good.”
I said that, didn’t I?
I did, yeah, and I would be embarrassed about how breathless I sound about a car but this could be good.
In the sense that I said the first words now and all the break-up movies that I’ve seen — not that we had a break-up because we never had a relationship to begin with — always teach you to say the first words.
To get control of the situation.
To sound breezy.
“She does.”
Two words.
Two words spoken in his smooth, deep voice after two years.
And the momentary upper hand I thought I’d gotten vanishes.
It just goes away and I start trembling.
And then I have to look at him because I can’t not.
I can’t not look at him and so I swivel my gaze and after two years I get to see him.
I get to see him from this close.
I get to see his stubble that makes me wonder if he hates it still. I get to see his thick eyelashes — I’d forgotten how thick they are, like a forest of dark curls. I get to see his plush, red mouth. The mouth that always sported a smirk and a cut or a bruise from getting into fights with my brother.
And his wolf eyes.
Gosh, his eyes.
Gunmetal gray and smoky and on me.
I was right.
Nothing has changed. Nothing.
He still has that same rugged beauty.
He still is so heartbreakingly gorgeous.
In fact, he’s more gorgeous now, more tempting and dashing even. And I think it’s his hair.
His rich, dark hair that’s longer now.
It brushes the collar of his jacket and something about that makes my stomach clench.
Something about that makes me think of vintage movie heroes and villains with their leather jackets and long hair. With their devil-may-care attitude.
A cigar-smoking villain…
I shake my head and say, “Are you sure she’s safe though? Your baby. In this neighborhood. People can be very dangerous.”
People like me.
Not that I’d ever touch his Mustang again, but still. He doesn’t know that and I’d like to keep it that way.
Although he doesn’t seem to think that I’m much of a threat, because his ruby red lips stretch up and morph into his typical smirk. “Can they?”
That smirk makes my heart go boom, boom, boom before I find my voice and say, “Yeah.”
“What do you think they’ll do?”
Drown it in the lake again.
But I don’t say it.
Because I don’t want to drown it in the lake again and I don’t want to joke about that.
But I do want to scare him a little so I tilt my head to the side and clench my fingers around the bottle. “I don’t know, steal it? Again. Slash your tires. Steal your rims. Spray-paint your hood. Smash your windows. Douse the whole thing with liquor and burn it down once and for all.”
His amusement only grows. “That’s… quite a creative list.”
“I’m creative.”
“And definitely dangerous.”
“Oh, you’re in for such a surprise, trust me.”
“Does it come with a little bow tied around it? Your surprise.”
What?
What is he…
My whiskey-doused brain finally catches up when I notice where his wolf eyes are.
They are on my stomach, my waist, and I finally get what he’s talking about.
My dress has a bow wrapped around the waist and in his usual style, he’s commenting on it. Because that’s what he does. He comments on my dresses.
And holy crap.
I realize something else too.
I’m wearing white, his favorite color.
And he’s looking at it like it’s his favorite thing ever. Especially that green bow and the lacy ruffled hem that’s grazing my bare thighs.
“No, it comes with long nails and sharp teeth,” I tell him with a sweet smile and a chirpy voice.
He lifts his eyes then. “Well then, I’ll be over here, sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting to unwrap it.”
Ugh.
Of course.
Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d twist my words and turn them into something dirty and seductive. Something that would make me blush and squirm.
And like the idiot I am, I am blushing.
What is wrong with me?
“As much as I’m enjoying talking to you,” I say with my chin raised, “I don’t have time for this. So let’s do it.”
He looks at me for a few beats before repeating my words flatly. “Let’s do it.”
I widen my stance, shift on my feet like a fighter, getting ready to throw punches. “Yeah. Let’s do this thing so you can leave me alone.”
