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“Which one?” he raises an eyebrow.
“Thor,” I say and he laughs.
“Well, I don’t think Chris’ shirt could have possibly been this tight,” he says, and I realize that there is no chance for me to ever find out what I’d turn into if he was polite. Zero. He will never be. Also, as a choice for what I need, he’s getting perfecter and perfecter by the second. “And yeah, mine are still better.”
Dammit, they are.
“Oh great,” I say, “it’s so amazing that you’ve got that going for you.” He raises an eyebrow in question, as if to say: ‘are these words really coming out of your mouth right now?’. Yes, they are. And yes, I’m wondering the same thing. “So, say, could you take me to Connecticut real quick?”
I kind of wish he had been drinking water so he could do a spit take right now. He does the next best thing, which is to look me up and down, his blue eyes turning into a wall of gray. His whole face turning into ice.
Was I too abrupt?
He waits.
“I…” I lick my lips. “I want to go without my guards, for a… a personal matter. Something about the scandal. I mean, I’m sure you haven’t heard, but I… My dad…”
“I’ve heard,” he says. He’s not blinking.
This is so not the time to throw up again, but my stomach roils with nerves as it has never roiled with nerves before.
“Well,” I begin to lick my lip—I stop myself.Stay cool. Ask for what you need.“I need to go somewhere real quick, it won’t take more than a day, tops. But I can’t have my papers on me, so I can’t take the bus or a plane, and you… I think you have a bike.”
“I do.” Still not blinking.
Is that a condition? Should he see someone about that?
“Well, what do you think?” I finish lamely. And to think, I talk in front of audiences back home. I have botched this royally. Ha. Royally.
“What’s in it for me?” he asks, blinking for the first time. A muscle ticks on his jaw.
This has gotten really intense really fast. I shift from one leg to another. I shouldn’t be having this conversation out in the lawn, should I? But we are on his turf, and I can’t demand privacy when I am asking such a huge thing.
“Um…”Come on, I have rehearsed this part.
I mean, prepared. I have prepared this part. I have not rehearsed him standing so tall and gorgeous with that buzzcut and these hard angles and these cheeks and these… And asking ‘what’s in it for me’ with those bedroom eyes. Wait, no. No bedroom eyes. Just regular eyes. Too blue, perhaps, and too big, and too…
Stop it.
“What do you want, Q?” he asks, his tone kind of condescending.
“A ride,” I reply.
“Well,” he says slowly as if talking to a child, and I suddenly I have to restrain myself from slapping him across those sculpted cheeks. Probably for the best: I’d definitely hurt myself, they are so sharp. “As I said, what’s in it for me?”
“I’ll… Give you a chance to do something with me. A few things… Naughty things.”
I stop breathing for a second.
Ihaverehearsed that part. It sounds stupid coming out of my lips, but he goes immediately still and I know he got my meaning. He’ll laugh at me, won’t he? I don’t know how I am keeping a straight face. Maybe it’s because I’m terrified. But yes, I have practically offered to kiss him or whatever in exchange for driving me to Connecticut. It’s that important. Also, I might not have thought this through.
Wait, did I just say ‘naughty’?
He laughs dryly, pushing off the wall. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to sleep with you.”
“Oh.” Well, that’s not what I offered anyway. The blood rushes from my head again. “What do you want?” I ask without thinking.
“You on your knees. Begging me.”
