Page 59 of Saving the Last Heir
“What’s this?”
“I, uh, well, I had more questions, but there wasn’t enough time to ask them all at lunch. I figured you could write down what you know. I’m learning. You know,” I said, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug.
A humorous glint shone in his eyes. “You’re studying dragons?” he said, his voice thick with mirth as well as excitement.
“Shifters,” I corrected, then conceded, “with anemphasison dragons, I guess. Just a bunch of things I found online. I want to know if they’re accurate, and there are also other questions I have.”
Jackson scanned the pad. “How far can a dragon fly? Can wolf shifters walk on two legs?” He paused, grinned and read, “How long is a dragon’s?—”
“You don’t have to read them out loud,” I said, holding up a hand to stop him. “Just, you know, write down the answers. It’s, uh, for science.”
Jackson glanced up, his grin a shade more wicked, but in a friendly way. “And what does science care about how long my?—”
“Okay, bye, see you in a little while,” I said, rushing for the door, my face flaming. It was a private question, but sometimes a girl needed to know.
Dad was at a friend’s house for steak and baked potatoes, which meant the house was blessedly empty, and it allowed me to get ready without having to explain where I was going and who I was going with.
While in the shower, I quickly shaved my legs and a fewotherspots too. I was sure I was making something out of nothing, and all Jackson wanted to do was say thanks for helping him, but why not beextraprepared?
That thought sent a happy little buzz through my chest and stomach, and a happier buzz between my legs. I’d never met anyone like him—someone who I liked so much I was almost hopelessly attracted to. Maybe, ifhedidn’t make a move tonight,Iwould. Hell, if I didn’t, tomorrow might be the last time I saw him. What harm was there in shooting my shot?
I shaved, showered, and got dressed in record time. I contemplated dolling myself up for him, but decided that was too much. I never did stuff like that because I preferred to be myself. So, I put on some simple makeup and pulled my hair back. When I was done, I checked myself out in the mirror.
Knowing I needed to hurry, I eyed the low-cut blouse I’d put on. I didn’t have much in the way of boobs, but this did a good job of showing off what I did have, and the jeans—my favorite pair—made my ass look amazing.
Leaning close to the mirror, I looked into my own eyes. “Okay, chick,” I said to myself. “Don’t come on too strong, and don’t beat yourself up if nothing happens.”
My personal pep talk done, I departed, hopping into my Jeep and gunning it the five minutes back to the shop. I made it back in just under the hour I said I’d be gone. When I stepped back into the garage, I found Jackson in the middle of the shop. He’d pulled my office chair out and sat in it, feet propped on a short stack of tires, the legal pad on his thighs as he scribbled notes.
“You’re still writing?” I said, assuming he’d be done with my questions in five or ten minutes.
“I figured you’d want some pretty specific info. No reason to do this if it’s not detailed.” He glanced up and froze, his eyes locking on my body, sliding from my feet up my legs and across my torso until he met my eyes.
“Is anything wrong?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. I had to fight not to adjust or fiddle with my clothes out of nervousness.
“You look amazing,” he said.
I sighed with relief and smiled. “Really? I sort of threw it all on without thinking,” I lied.
“Let’s go have that drink,” he said, rising from the chair.
He crossed the garage, his muscled thighs visible through the well-fitting jeans he wore, his T-shirt the perfect combination of tight and loose. Tight around the arms, shoulders and chest, but loose around the midsection, though he didn’t need the room. I’d already noticed his flat, toned stomach.
“That sounds great,” I said.
He took my hand when he was close enough. His skin was warm. Strong fingers wrapped around mine, and the heat of his touch traveled up my arm. Such a small gesture. Holding hands.Totally platonic and without any sexual innuendo, yet I felt a steady warm pulse between my legs.
“I guess you’re driving,” he said. “I, uh, well, I flew.”
“I know the perfect place,” I said. “Hop in and let’s go.”
Jackson climbed into the passenger seat, and when I got behind the wheel, I again had the feeling that this was anactualdate. Rather than trying to undercut that thought, or think of ways that it wasn’t what it was, I decided to go with it.
We drove to an area that wasn’t on the typical frat-boy scene, and I pulled into a taqueria-style place that was one step above a dive bar, but still nice enough to be a cool place to chill out. They had the best tacos this side of the border and an amazing selection of tequila. I hoped he’d like it.
Jackson leaned forward, reading the neon sign as we pulled into the parking lot. “Juan-John’s Place?” He frowned and looked at me. “That’s a weird name, right?”
I grinned at him. “The guy who owns it is named Juan Torres. When he opened the place twenty years ago, it was nothing but a food truck called Juan’s Place in a parking lot. The first customer who walked up was a drunk guy, who apparently couldn’t read. He said ‘is this John’s place?’ It became a joke that stuck, and when he opened this a couple years later, he changed the name,” I said with a shrug.
