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“Didn’t you grow up here?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but I just told you. My parents, while loving, kept me pretty close to home. I never explored much. I didn’t have a car until college, and college was up in New York. I’ve been back here only a handful of times since I moved away, and those were all short visits. I may be a New Orleans native, but this city is kind of foreign to me.”
“That’s…” I search for the right word. I’m also a NOLA native, but where Paige’s parents were restrictive, mine were pretty much negligent. My whole childhood was freedom, in an unhealthy way, seeing as how I ended up in the back of a police car. But at least I got to know my city. “…sad.”
Paige avoids my eyes, choosing to kneel on the ground and rub Pumpkin’s exposed belly. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I had a bad life. Just kind of sheltered.”
“So, you’ve never gone out? Experienced the bars and the nightlife?”
Her shoulders grow stiff. “I’ve gone out! I’m not some weird hermit that locked herself away in her apartment. I went out all the time in New York.”
“But that’s New York going out.” I shake my head, tugging my fingers through my hair. “Not New Orleans going out.”
She shrugs. “Is it that big of a difference?”
I can’t help but sputter. “You can’t be serious! People fly here from around the country, from around theworld, to get a taste of what this city has to offer. Of course it’s different.”
Paige’s doubtful expression raises my blood pressure, and I have an intense urge to prove to her what she’s been missing.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?”
Paige’s eyes blink open wide and her hand falls away from Pumpkin. “Why?”
“Because you need to give this city,yourcity, a chance.”
“What does that mean?”
I crouch down in front of her, bringing our gazes level. “That means, Paige Herbert, that I’m taking you out.”
Chapter Twelve
PAIGE
I hesitate outside the door to the bar, trying to hold on to this moment where I am in complete control of my faculties. Because who knows what will happen the minute I see Dash?
Only yesterday, I decided to use him as a self-defense dummy, and I still get the occasional tingle along my abdomen as I recall how it felt to have his warm chest pressed against mine. Intoxicating.
Then this morning was the metaphorical hangover from hell.
How could I attack him like that?
I can’t manhandle someone just to prove a point. No matter how much I wanted to run my hands over his biceps. And his chest. And his face.
Ugh, now I’m thinking about touching his face like I’m blind or something. I have eyes. I can stare at him. But I shouldn’t.
I’m going to fuck this up. I don’t know how I haven’t already.
Still, Dash was the one who askedmeout.
Or, at least, he asked if I wanted to get to know my city better.
I’m still torn between whether or not I want this to be a date. On the one hand, Dash is hot, and sweet, and smells like sheets fresh from the drier. On the other hand, I’m still sporting a broken heart and haven’t figured out if I’m able to trust someone with a penis.
He probably didn’t mean for this to be a date.
More likely, Dash thinks I don’t have any friends, felt pity for me, and reluctantly invited me for a weeknight get together in hopes that I won’t get too depressed and do something dramatic. Like shave my head.
“You coming in or what?” The gruff voice knocks me out of my inner musings, and I realize the doorman has been watching me chew my lip and debate with myself for a good five minutes.
