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My breath came out in short gasps. He’d said something similar the day he took me to lunch.
He smoothed his thumb over my cheek and let his hand drop.
???
“This, is Sonic?” I asked, looking around the parking space he’d pulled into, that was surrounded on both sides by a menu. Other cars were parked in different spots, all with the same setup.
“Yep,” he grinned, turning off his car, and manually rolling down his window.
“This is weird,” I glanced at the two different menus.
Trace chuckled and I whipped my head in his direction. “What?” I snapped.
“Your face is priceless,” he snickered.
“This is kind of overwhelming,” I looked from the menu on his side of the car and back to the one on mine.
“Relax, it’s really not. This is the food menu,” he explained, pointing to the menu on his side, “breakfast, lunch, desert, the whole shebang. That one,” he pointed to the one beside me, “is just for promotional stuff.”
“Oh,” I nodded, feeling relieved. I tended to overreact whenever I was presented with something new.
I leaned towards Trace, careful not to touch him, so I could read the menu.
“You have to try their tater tots, they’re the best,” he commented.
I scooted back to my side of the car. “Just order me whatever you’re having.”
“You sure?” He raised a brow.
“I’m not picky,” I smiled.
“Okay,” he hesitated for a moment, before pushing the red button, and waiting for someone to respond.
After he ordered our food, I looked over at him and probed, “Tell me something about yourself. You know about my dad and my list, but I really don’t know anything about you. That doesn’t seem fair.”
He grinned, flashing only a small amount of his straight white teeth. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything you want me to know,” I relaxed into the seat.
“Hmm,” he mused, “I have a little brother, Trent. He’s seventeen and a senior in high school. We’re close despite the fact that I’m five years older.”
“So, you’re twenty-two?” I asked.
“Someone knows their math,” he joked.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” I pestered, curious to find out more about Trace. I had opened myself up to him, for some reason, and I wanted him to do the same with me. I wanted to know the real man behind the cocky panty-dropping smile.
He grew quiet and I could hear the wheels turning in his head. He snapped his fingers and grinned. “I like to dance.”
“Dance?” I questioned, my brows raised. Trace didn’t strike me as a dancer.
“Yeah,” he replied, “I suck at it, but I enjoy it. I dance while I work on cars, I dance while I cook, you never know when it’s gonna happen.”
I put a hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh, as I pictured Trace dancing in the middle of the grocery store, or some other odd place.
“That’s very—uh—interesting,” I giggled.
“Hey, you’re the one that wanted to know something about me,” he shrugged, with his residual smirk.
