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“Are you too tipsy to drive? Should I call you a cab?”
His questions pierce my infatuation fog, and the heat of embarrassment slams hard into my cheeks. I take a quick step back, away from Dash and all his distracting handsomeness.
“No. I’m a good driver.” And now I’m quotingRain Man. Perfect. “I mean, I had two beers, and it’s been more than two hours, and I was just lost in thought for a moment there, and my blood alcohol level is most definitely below the legal limit.”
If anything is high, it’s my blood pressure. I doubt most girls would consider it a compliment when the guy they’re crushing on looks deeply into her eyes and then concludes that she’s wasted.
My ego pretty much no longer exists.
“Do you remember where you parked?” He still sounds doubtful of my ability to act as a sober human being. I barely keep from moaning in mortification.
I don’t want him to walk me to my car anymore. I want him to leave me alone, so I can curl into a ball and hibernate until I become a fully functioning adult.
“I doubt we’re parked near each other. We can part ways here.”
And then, because apparently, I wanted to put a cherry on top of my idiot cake, I reach up and pat him on the head.
Like a dog.
This is how my brain chooses to show Dash that I’m sober.
“Did you jus—“
“No!” I turn and power walk in the direction I parked earlier, praying to every deity I’ve ever read about that Dash goes in the opposite direction.
It seems that the gods and goddesses know deep down I’m not normally so devout because I’ve only taken a few steps before a hot hand presses against my back.
“I’m walking you to your car, Paige.”
“That’s silly. You should go to your car, and I’ll go to my car, and then we will be at the proper cars.”
And maybe I’ll stop talking like a robot.
Dash snorts. “I didn’t drive here, so no need to worry about that.”
I peer up at him as we pause, waiting to cross an intersection. “You took a cab? Why? You didn’t even drink.”
The side of his face I can see grimaces. “Car trouble.”
“Oh.” I hesitate for a moment, weighing the pros and cons, before realizing I don’t care what the cons are. “I can give you a ride home.”
Dash’s hand drops away from my back as we dodge around a loud group of men that are either a fraternity or bachelor party with the loud, drunken way they’re carrying on. Once we’re side by side again, he shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just call a cab.”
Down the street, I see the beautiful emerald shine of my ’68 Chevy Impala. She’s sitting happy and calm, just where I left her.
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why pay money for a ride when I’m offering a free one?”
“I’m out of your way.”
“So what? It’s not like I have a job to get to tomorrow morning.”
“A cab will be fine.”
I don’t know why he’s being so weird about this. Unless… “Dash. Look at me.”
We pause about ten feet from my parking spot, and he turns his head to the side to meet my eyes. The move seems reluctant.
