Page 8 of Definitely (Maybe) Dating
“Another ten? I thought the first one was a warning. More of a stating of the rules.”
“Who says, ‘A stating of the rules’?” she asked in her best Josh impression, making him sound like one of the many pompous Neanderthals he worked with at the courthouse.
“A lot of people,” he pointed out. “And I don’t sound like that.”
Her face appeared from between the seats, and she gifted him a smart-ass smile. “If you say so, Jeeves.”
“How do you know Jillian?” he asked to the flurry of material behind him.
“We worked a wedding together,” she said. The sound of rustling and squeaking leather made his attention return to the rearview mirror. Her arms were sticking out of a vintage rock t-shirt, and her head had yet to surface. “When she heard the owner of Belle Mont House was looking for a resident photographer, she recommended me. By the way, that’s another ten.”
“How do you know I looked?” His eyes had been dutifully back on the road long before she had come up for air.
“You just told me,” she said as one of her legs poked through the center console. A very long and shapely leg, with sparkly pink tipped toes that peeked out the foot hole of her black jeans.
Her foot moved this way and that as she tugged on the pants, her toes tickling his arm one moment then kicking him in the rib, giving Josh a clear picture of exactly how much navigating was going on in his back seat. He told himself not to look, that whatever was going on in the back seat was none of his business. Her current state of dress—or undress as it may be—no longer required his attention. And wasn’t that a damn shame.
“Seriously?” She laughed. “At this rate you’re going to owe me money.”
“What? My eyes were firmly on the…” He paused because,damn,they had been on the rearview mirror, watching the way the letters on her vintage rock t-shirt curved around her chest. “I like 4 Non Blondes, so sue me.”
“Really?” she said, her innocent gasp making it clear she knew that he was full of shit. Then she was in motion, spinning around in his back seat as if looking for something when—would you look at that—his rearview mirror had an incredible view of her rear.
It was either a case of ‘Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear’or those black jeans hugged her in all the right places. Tough Girl had one of those completely cuppable, heart-shaped asses that Josh wouldn’t mind swaying in his direction.
“Found it!” She plopped back down and blew her hair out of her eyes. “I took you as more of a Michael Bublé fan.”
“What’s wrong with Bublé? My mom listens to Bublé, so when we go to the dance lessons on Wednesdays, I listen to Bublé.”
“That’s sweet.” Her foot reappeared between the seats, propped up on the console while she laced those steel toed boots which went over the hip-hugging jeans and all the way up past her calves. “You still lost ten bucks for checking out my ass when I was looking for my car keys, but you sound like a good son.”
“There wasliterallyno place else to look.”
“How about the road?” she suggested. “Or watching your tip float away?”
Josh could care less about the fifty bucks. He was more interested in the sexy stripper in the back seat wearing a pair of black jeans fashionably shredded in strategic places, giving him a peek of silky skin every time she moved, an equally black t-shirt, and matching boots that were just about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. She slipped a black blazer over the t-shirt, hiding the band’s name and logo, and adding some buttons to her otherwise tough girl vibe.
Damn, she was hot. Not like the buttoned-up women he usually dated. Not that he was even considering dating her, because if she was the photographer, that meant she worked for his sister-in-law, and he liked his boys where they were—not lodged in his throat.
“I like that outfit better.” He put the car in Park and turned off the ignition.
“Even if it cost you your last ten bucks?”
“Even then.” Meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror, he gave her a wink before climbing out the car. He reached for the door and held it open, though he could tell it irritated her.
“Now you’re just trying to sweet talk me into giving you your whole tip back.”
“Or maybe I’m a full-service kind of driver. Did you think of that?”
She rolled her eyes, and as he reached for her bags, she swatted his hands away. “Seriously, I got this.” She straightened, with all her thousand and one bags slung over various limbs. But he just stood there, blocking her way. She either had to shoulder past him or let him assist.
She did neither. She let an annoyed sigh slip through her lips before reaching into her bag and pulling out fifty dollars, which she sweetly wafted in his face. He gave the money a long, hard look, then stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“I’m more of a word than number guy, but by my count, I was down to only ten bucks.”
“Yeah, well, you got me out of a bind and probably saved my job. So, thank you,” she said, looking everywhere but at him.
“Consider it on the house,” he said, and if he ever needed to get her attention, he knew how.
