Page 52 of Show Off

“What do you hate most about your family?” He’s moved on already, and I’m happy to go. “The fame? The constant presence of cameras? Don’t think about it—just answer.”

I’m so thrown by this pivot that I blurt out my answer. “Being treated like the baby. Like some little girl who’s just playing in the family business, but not to be taken too seriously. I fuckinghatethat. I hate it more than ingrown toenails or rush hour traffic or people who make phone calls on speaker in public.”

Did I just say that?

Dal breaks into a smile. “There.” His voice rolls like thunder. “That felt good, didn’t it?”

“It did.” Almost as good as what we did on the counter.

What I’m urgently hoping can happen again.

“Kinda nice,” he says, “being brutally honest.”

Niceisn’t how I’d describe it. “It felt weird.” Dangerous is more like it. “Really weird.”

“You say weird, I say good.” He smiles. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

“You’re just trying to appeal to my potato lust.”

His grin gets bigger. “Is it working?”

“No.” It totally is.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“So?” He’s right that there’s something freeing about speaking those words out loud. But there’s more to it than naked honesty. It’s not so simple.

“You’re right that telling the truth can feel terrific.” I hold up a hand when I see him start to speak. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be thoughtful with the truth. Consider who it might hurt before blurting things out.”

“I disagree.” Dal folds his arms. “The truth is kindness.”

“Kindnessis kindness.” We’re running in circles here.

He must decide I’m right because he offers an olive branch. “Tell me one more true thing,” he says. “Just one.”

I ache to say it. To blurt out the big one, the secret I’ve hidden since I was ten years old.

But I chicken out. “Car sex,” I say instead, because this is also true, “I want to get laid in a car.”

Dal blinks. “What?”

“With you,” I clarify, in case that wasn’t obvious. “I never got to do the whole ‘crazy teenagers snog in the car’ thing that’s a rite of passage for most people.” I shrug and glance away, a little self-conscious of my confession. “It’s not really an option for a kid who grows up chased by paparazzi.”

“I see.” There’s amusement in Dal’s low rumble. Amusement and… intrigue? “The restaurant closes early tonight. Mondays tend to be slow.”

“Okay.” What is he suggesting?

“After our trip to Bend,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “after I’m off for the night?—”

“Yes?” The breathlessness in my voice makes me blush.

“Let’s see what we can do about that wish.”

I stare at him, wanting to say something clever. Something to snap the tension. “Okay,” is all I manage, but it makes him smile.

“Meet me at the car in ten minutes.” He steps close, skimming his thumb underneath my chin.

“Gonna need a little more foreplay than that.” That’s a lie, and he probably knows it.

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