Page 36 of No More Bad Boys
“Oh—I grew up in the country.”
“Really? I lived in the suburbs all my life. Where did you grow up?”
“Sparta. Little dink place. Man, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“So, you were a farm boy then?”
His mouth twists and settles into a grim line. His eyes stay on the road before us. “No. We didn’t have a farm. I just lived out in the sticks, on a remote county road.”
“Sounds kind of fun,” I say, encouraging him to continue talking about himself, but he doesn’t take me up on the prompt. He just gives a noncommittal shrug. Again I get the impression there’s something he’s hiding.
He’s super-quiet now, and it’s starting to feel awkward. I don’t like the silence because it gives me too much time to think about our kiss, his touch, the way the muscles of his shoulders and neck moved powerfully under my hands as he ran with me on his back.
As my mind wanders in that direction, the temperature in the truck cab seems to increase exponentially.
Even watching him drive is erotic—the flex of his forearms as he grips and turns the steering wheel, the shifting of muscle in his legs as he brakes at traffic lights—it’s like some kind of sexy performance-art-on-wheels.
“I like your truck.”
That gets him smiling. “Thanks. And Hank thanks you.” He pats the dashboard as if it’s the head of a faithful pet dog.
“You named your truck?”
“Yep. He’s my first new vehicle, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a little bit attached.”
That gives me pause. He’s twenty-four, and this is his first new car? I’m car-less at the moment, but I was given a new car as soon as I turned sixteen.
At Momma’s insistence, I had a new model about every two years after that, until recently when we all had to turn in our expensive leased vehicles.
“So you bought used before? That’s very green of you—re-use, repurpose,” I say.
He glances over at me, wearing an expression that tells me he’s weighing whether he wants to reveal whatever’s on his mind.
“There’s that… and this is the first job I’ve had that paid anything really. My first job out of school was in Macon. That’s a tiny starter market, and let’s just say I was doing well to afford the gas for my old used P-O-S.”
“Did that car have a name, too?”
“It did.” He gives me a smile so potent it should come with a warning label. “But I don’t think I should mention it in front of a lady.”
We pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex, and Blake parks his truck in one of the visitor spots near the main sidewalk. He turns off the engine and sits for a second before shifting to face me.
“So… I hope you had a really no-fun time tonight.”
“Oh I did. That was one of the most no-fun dates I’ve ever had, as a matter of fact.” I play along, expecting him to return my smile.
Instead his expression is rather uncertain. “Actually, I was hoping it would turn out alittlebetter than that. Icancook, and I was planning to make you a nice dinner.”
I cover his hand with mine. “I had agreattime. It would have been perfect, actually, if it hadn’t turned into Night of the Living Duck.”
Blake looks down at my hand resting on his, gives a slight smile, and flips his hand over, interlacing his fingers with mine.
“Good. Because it was feeling pretty perfect to me there for a minute, too.”
He looks up at my face in the dark cab. “You don’t think some jealousy-crazed duck is going to come out of nowhere if I try to kiss you again, do you?”
Grinning despite my nervousness, I whisper, “I think we’re safe.”
Blake uses our joined hands to pull me to him, leaning over to bridge the distance. Our lips meet. His kiss is different this time, slowly exploring, relaxing me, drugging me.
