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“I have youth group.”
“Youth group.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Yes. Youth group. As in a bunch of teenagers, who would be the youth, who have nothing better to do on a Thursday night but get together, which would be the group, in the church basement.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It is.
“What do you guys do?” I was picturing choirs and hallelujah and much praising of the Lord.
“We talk and stuff.”
“About what?”
“The weather.”
Wow. She really was in a mood.
“That makes exciting seem lame,” I teased.
“It’s not a joke, Trevor. It used to be a lot of fun.”
“Used to,” I repeated slowly. “So what changed?”
There went the pencil again. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. She shrugged. “I guess I did.” The tapping stopped. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”
I leaned back in my chair, happy that we were engaged on some level other than due process of law.
“Why are you in such a bad mood?”
She tossed the pencil. “I’m not.”
“You’re full of crap.”
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and for a second, my gaze dropped. How could it not? She was wearing this pale yellow blouse, and the top buttons had come undone. I could be a nice guy and tell her about it, but right now, I was about as far from being a nice guy as snow was from Louisiana.
Everly Jenkins had cleavage and—I grinned—was wearing a matching yellow bra.
“What are you doing tonight?” she asked, oblivious to the fact that the more she leaned toward me, the more of that creamy, smooth skin was exposed. I noticed little daisies decorating the bra straps.
“I don’t know. That depends.”
This here. This was flirting at its best. The kind of flirting that a guy enjoyed, mostly because it was kind of like foreplay. There was something between Everly and me, and man, I wanted to explore it. Considering I hadn’t been all that interested in any girl since my accident and breakup with Bailey, that was saying something. For the longest time I’d been afraid of rejection. I mean, what kind of girl wants to date a guy whose marbles aren’t always intact?
“On what?” she asked, a little out of breath now.
“On you.”
I could tell she was surprised. “Me?”
“Yeah. You.”
Mrs. Henney shushed us, so I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Let’s do something tonight.”
“Why?”
