Page 75 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“What?” I’m still coming to terms with his presence at a family lunch. Now he’s trying to throw in a car ride as well? “No.”
“Why not?”
His question takes me by surprise. I didn’t anticipate him challenging me. “What if you want to leave early?”
“That would be rude.”
“What ifIwant to leave early?”
“That would also be rude.”
I huff. “You seem obsessed with manners today.”
“I place a high value on manners,” he agrees. “So do you, given that I’ve observed you repeatedly emphasizing them to Lisset.”
My eyes widen. “Wow, playing the kid card. You’re pulling out all the stops.”
Something sparkles in his eyes. “I also feel, quite strongly I might add, that we should do our bit for the planet and drive there together.”
“Ah, the climate change card. You’re holding quite the hand.”
“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent poker player.”
“I don’t doubt it. Well, I do strive to be a more conscientious global citizen,” I inform him solemnly, playing along. “I accept your offer.”
“I promise we’ll leave whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” I focus on straightening my shirt that doesn’t require straightening. “By the way, where did you learn to iron?”
“My mom. She insisted ironing is a life skill.”
“I never thanked you.”
“You’re thanking me now.”
I turn to go, but his next words stop me in my tracks.
“Ready to go on a date with me yet?”
I pull my lips between my teeth to hide a smile. “We’re going on a date. I’m driving with you to my parents’ house.”
He frowns. “That doesn’t count.”
“It does in my books.” My expression is all mischief. “A Straight Flush, Mister High-Stakes Poker Player.”
On Sunday, I spend more time than usual getting ready. I apply a light blush to my cheeks and use my curling iron to add a soft wave to my brown hair, which is now just past my shoulders. Ipick up my eyeliner, then put it down again. Too dramatic and obvious for a lunch. Also, I have Tess’s voice in my head telling me my eyes are so dark and expressive they don’t need eyeliner.
At the very last minute, I change out of the jeans and T-shirt I was intending to wear and slip into a floral maxi dress, throwing a denim jacket over it. I tell myself I’m dressing for a temperamental spring day in April, and I almost believe the lie.
Gideon is waiting in my driveway when I step out of the house.
His eyes drink me in and he says nothing for five excruciating seconds.
“You look breathtaking,” he says in a low, rough voice.
He’s wearing black cargo pants and a white shirt that clings to his muscles like an adoring fan. But it’s the naked desire flaring his pupils that traps the air in my lungs. His hands fist at his sides, as though he’s exerting all his willpower to restrain them from grabbing me and pulling me up against him and dragging his lips across—
“Hi, Gideon!”
