Page 30 of A Favor Owed

I’m shaking when I grab it, still gripped by the oddly terrifying dream. But when I look at the screen, the terror begins to dissipate. I smell sun-warmed, lightly cologned skin, see freckles scattered under soft green eyes, and feel warm hands glide down my arms as those eyes take me in.

And there’s only one way to describe those eyes.

Chapter Twelve

Brady

“Hungry eyes.”

“Holy shit, Pines,” I say, “did you just answer your phone with aDirty Dancingquote? That’s it. I’m signing you up for an AARP card right now.”

She laughs, and her tired voice comes over the line again. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I was asleep.”

“You were asleep, huh?” I could tell she’d been asleep. Even if my ears hadn’t caught it, my dick is fully aware. I want that tired voice in my bed, in the morning, after a whole lot of sex. “I’ve barely had a chance to wear you out and you’re this tired? You’re going to be a zombie by the time I’m done with you.”

“Oh really,” she says. “Are you taking me on a hike? Mountain climbing? White-water rafting?”

“Would I get to see you in a bikini again?”

“I don’t think people wear bikinis to go white-water rafting unless they’re in a beer commercial.”

“To get back to your question, no,” I say. “Extreme sports wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“Well, you keep your dirty thoughts to yourself, McDaniels.”

“I’d much rather share them with you. You feature very prominently in them.”

I imagine her shaking her silver head, embarrassed and flattered and not wanting to admit to either. “I have to go to work,” she says.

“What time are you done?”

“Just in time for me to go home and sleep,” she says. “We have an eight forty-five Legal Writing class tomorrow, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Let me pick you up tonight.” I want more Angie Pines, and I want it now. But I can wait for tonight. In the meantime, I’ll think about the different ways I’m going to have my Angie cake and eat it, too.

“That’s okay,” she says. “We close early on Sundays, so you don’t have to worry about me going home late on my bike. I’ll be safely in my bed by midnight.”

A vision of Angie alone in her bed wearing that thin little tank top thing and a red lace thong barges into my brain. Jesus Christ. Unfortunately, one night of doing not nearly enough with her has turned me into a hormone-crazed junior-high kid. I’m practically salivating.

“Yeah, but you could be safely inmybed by midnight. That would be a hell of a lot more fun.”

“There is nothing safe about me in your bed, Brady,” she says. “And don’t give me that ‘good Catholic boy’ shit. It’s not happening.”

“Never?” I ask, momentarily alarmed.

A long pause ensues that makes my heart race. “No…notnever,” she finally says. “But not tonight.”

“You’re killing me, Pines.”

“You’ll live,” she says, laughter in her voice.

“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse her.

“What can I say? You’re kind of fun to torture.”

Eyes on the prize, Brady, I remind myself.Slow and steady. She’s calling the shots.But this isn’t how things usually go. I call the shots. I meet girls, hook up with them for a while, and move on. The minute the girl isn’t on the same page as me, the minute she’s more into me than I’m into her, or vice versa—game over. It’s all about an even playing field. But this field is already tipped decidedly in my favor, so I figure I can let her get away with a few things.

“Okay, then, I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” I say, caving like a sinkhole.

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