Page 42 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
Anders just smiles and drapes his big arm around the back of my seat. Then I feel his fingers sliding through the loose hair at the nape of my neck. “I kinda like you, Sunflower,” he murmurs so quietly, I’m not sure whether I heard him right. His warm hand rests around the back of my neck, and the weight of it is the perfect mixture of comforting and exciting. His strong fingers softly knead the tense muscles there and I realize, this is the best birthday I will ever have. Nothing can ever top this.
We drive aimlessly for miles, down back roads, past the reservoir where the air turns chilly, and around the red sandstone cliffs that overlook my tiny town. Anders and I talk about everything—movies and TV shows, our high school years, our families, past boyfriends and girlfriends. This part of the conversation is an eye-opener. I laugh out loud when Anders tells me he rarely dates and hasn’t had a girlfriend since his divorce.
He shakes his head. “As far as the general public knows, Anders Beck has a different woman on his arm every week. I’m still typecast as a womanizer because in the early days of my career, that’s exactly what I was. But Cassidy motivated me to get clean. Healing from my brief, but toxic, relationship with her has led to me dating the way you drive—safe, slow, and within very specific parameters.” I can hear his grin in his voice.
“That makes sense.” I don’t care that he’s insulted my driving because he’s not wrong. It only takes one terrible accident to make a gal hypervigilant on the road. It sounds like the same principle holds true in Anders’ relationships.
He continues, “Ollie has taken it upon himself to make sure I stay sober, but he arranges one-off dates for publicity. We let the public think what they need to think about me to sell the roles I play, but hopefully all of that will end soon. That’s a big reason I need this current project to go well. But yeah, I rarely date anymore—it’s too dangerous.” He drags his thumb across the back of my neck, sending a shiver down to my toes.
I have to agree. The man is dangerous.
He goes on. “I’ve made too many mistakes with too many women, so I’ve been in recovery… Until…”
Oh, he is finishing that sentence. “Until what?” I prod.
“Until you. I can’t help myself with you.”
“I was in that closet, too. It takes two.” I won’t let him take all of the blame for this.
He groans, running a hand down his face. “Okay, tell me about your favorite music now.”
Our conversation moves to lighter topics, and I’m surprised by how much we have in common. We agree that cereal is the superiorsnack, although we bicker about the best brand. Anders really is a Captain Crunch Berries guy, but the correct answer is Quaker Oatmeal Squares. Midway through the cereal discussion, his hand moves from massaging my neck to my knee and I almost squeal with joy.
Now we’re losing our breath, laughing and imitating Oliver as Darth Vader, when I check Immy in the rear-view mirror. She’s slumped against the side of her seat, deeply asleep. I love the way her mouth hangs open when she’s really out like this.
“She’s still asleep,” I say with a gesture to the back seat. “We should probably take her home.”
He sighs. “I guess we should.”
“Okay.” I drag out the word and ease my foot off the gas pedal. I’m in no rush.
I catch Anders’ smirk in my periphery. He squeezes my knee and something about the gesture feels like reassurance. The night is over, but this isn’t over. We drive back to the resort in silence, except for the sounds of the Jeep shifting gears and Anders calling my mother to ask her to dog-sit Hairy for the night.
We park next to the pathway that leads to the suite and I turn off the Jeep. “This was…” I bite my lip. I can’t say everything I’m thinking; any sane man would run for the hills. But I have to say something. “You've made this the best birthday I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
His eyes are dark in the moonlight, but I feel them on me. His voice is low. “It isn’t over.” His hand moves to mine and he laces our fingers together. “I still have another gift for you, remember?”
I gasp. “Oooo! The inside gift! I forgot!” I unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Not so fast,” he whispers. “Let’s do it here. I don’t think we should go inside.”
“Why not? Isn’t it an inside gift?”
He chuckles. “The Jeep was the outside gift. This other thing can be an anywhere gift, really.”
I reach over and unbuckle his seat belt. “Okay, then. I choose inside.”
He squeezes my fingers. “I think you and I should probably stay outside where it’s safe…” He trails off, his eyes searching mine.
“Safe?” I’m not following.
“Safe.” His eyes are intense. There’s some hidden meaning here that I’m not picking up on. He sighs at my lost expression. “Sunny,” he groans in that husky voice of his.
“What?” Why is it safer out here? What am I missing? If anything, we’re ten times safer inside than we are in this conspicuous Jeep. As fun as it is, it's a terrible option for someone trying to protect his daughter’s privacy. Hopefully the locals don’t put two and two together.
He throws his hands up, obviously exasperated. He lets out a long breath and searches my eyes for something. Then, he cups my cheek with his large hand. He’s still searching my face. He’s asking a question with no words.
“Sunny.” His thumb strokes a long, slow line across cheek and back. “I need to get my head on straight.”
