by Emma Hart
I coughed and glanced away. “Well, it doesn’t matter, because after last night…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know all about it. You got drunk because you were nervous and ended up throwing up while he held back your hair. Then he made you sip water until he was sure you were done throwing up.”
“What? He didn’t tell me all that.”
“Of course he didn’t. That makes him look too much like a decent guy.” She rolled her eyes. “He stayed until you were asleep and locked your door on his way out.”
“That’s why my key was on the mat,” I mused.
She raised her eyebrows. “Can I tell you something he’ll kill me for?”
“As a rule… Please do.”
Roxy laughed and sipped her water before speaking. “I think he likes you. And I don’t mean as a friend.”
I stilled.
What was I supposed to reply to that? Everything I knew about him pointed to the alternative. I knew he was attracted to me, but was I dense to believe that he didn’t like me?
Yes.
I think I was.
Because the more I learned about him, the more I liked him, too.
And I didn’t quite know what to do about that.
“Oh,” I said quietly. “You do?”
“You sound surprised,” Roxy replied just as quietly.
“I am.”
“Are you, really? Because if someone told me he liked you, I wouldn’t be at all.” She looked at me, but she drew circles with water droplets on the table. “He’s an ass, and some of his opinions about your industry are a little backdated, but he’s really not a bad person. He’s just harder to break down.”
I swallowed hard and looked down. I knew what she was saying was true.
He was an asshole, and his opinions were bullshit, but that didn’t make him a bad person.
Horrible people didn’t hold your hair while you threw up or hold you getting blind drunk in what was supposed to be a date against you.
At least, I hoped he didn’t hold it against me.
My fear had definitely gotten the better of me.
The fear that the date would prove what I already knew.
That somewhere between the bickering and the bitching and the endless arguing—oh hell, during it all, too—I’d found someone I could stand up against and who could stand up against me.
And in the most unlikely place.
Again, I swallowed, and I looked away.
“You two act like you can’t stand to be around each other.” Roxy’s voice was soft. “Yet, sometimes, I think that might be the thing you like the most.”
Chapter Twenty-Four – Jamie
I didn’t care what Roxy said. There was no way that being around Dex was my favorite thing.
That was reserved for eating tacos in my yoga pants.
“How’s your hangover?”
“It wasn’t a hangover,” I said, setting aside the old tire. “It was a sensitivity to the sun.”
Dex snorted and folded his arms. “A sensitivity to the sunlight. Is that a new thing you’ve developed? You haven’t been sensitive the entire time we’ve known each other.”
I cleared my throat. “We’ve known each other two weeks. It’s a random thing.”
“I bet it comes on after you’ve had a lot of wine, too.”
“Not always.” I pulled the new tire over and started fitting it. “Just…sometimes.”
“So after wine.”
“Oh my God, leave me alone.” I pulled my hair so it covered my face and dipped my head so he couldn’t see the little flush that raised up my cheeks.
He laughed and passed me a tool I needed. “Still hungover, then?”
“Little bit.” I winced and took the tool. “Thanks.”
“Tacos didn’t help, then?”
“Probably would have helped a little more if my lunch date hadn’t been your sister.” I paused and looked up to meet his eyes. “That sounded much worse than I meant it.”
Dex’s lips twitched. “It always does when my sister is involved. She’s not really the most stimulating conversationalist.”
“No, no, the conversation was fine. Just the…topic…was off.”
“What was the—never mind. I can guess.”
I grimaced and nodded.
“Did she tell you all my secrets?”
“Only the one about how you used to twirl your penis like a helicopter every time you took a bath.”
Dex took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “She’s been saving that one for something special. She must really like you.”
“Everyone likes me. Except you.”
“I don’t dislike you. In fact, I find you quite tolerable lately. As long as you’re not throwing up on me.”
“I thought I vomited in the toilet.”
He paused. “Mostly. You kinda missed right after you were done complimenting my cock.”
I blushed. “Will you stop reminding me I said that?”
“Never. In fact, I think it’s my new favorite thing to do.” He grinned. “I’m going to bring it up every day.”
I groaned and rested my forehead against the car. “I knew dinner was a bad idea.”
“Wrong,” he said from the staff room. The fridge opened and closed. “Dinner was an excellent idea. It was great pizza—not that you remember it. Wine was the bad idea.”
“Fine, fine, whatever. Wine was the bad idea. Said no-one ever,” I finished on a mutter.
“You still owe me a dinner date, by the way.” He walked back out with a bottle of water in his hand. “And you agreed to it.”
I finished the tire and got up to walk to him. “You really can’t hold me to anything I said given that I can’t remember it. And that includes the penis compliment.” I took the bottle from his hand and unscrewed it.
“Says you. As far as I’m concerned, I’m believed you when you said I had a wonderful penis.”
This was going from bad to worse.
“I’m slightly biased,” he continued, “but I do happen to agree.” Then, he patted it lightly.
“I still think you’re lying.”
“I crossed my heart. If you do that and you’re lying, you die.”
“Yeah, if you’re six.” I rolled my eyes. “This is ridiculous. Face it. We never should have tried to have dinner together, because we’re almost incapable of having an adult conversation.”
“You were pretty X-rated last night.”
I glared at him. “You know what I mean. Having dinner last night, especially after what happened, was a bad idea. Admit it.”
He folded his arms, and just as he opened his mouth, the phone rang.
“I got it.” I darted across the garage before he could move. I answered the phone and booked in the requested M.O.T for next week before going back in.
“I don’t think it was a bad idea,” he said almost immediately. “Think about it. I got to see you drunk and adorable. Given that you’re never that adorable sober, I saw another side of you.”
“It’s not my most endearing side.”
“I disagree. It’s the most endearing one I’ve seen.”
I stared at him flatly. “You’re beginning to piss me off.”
He rubbed his mouth, but his hand couldn’t hide his grin. He stepped down into the workshop and walked over to me. Stopping just inches in front of me, he hooked a finger under my chin and tilted my head back so our gazes locked.
“You still owe me dinner,” he said in a low voice.
“Um.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “I do?”
“Mhmm. You agreed last night, so I’m cashing in tonight.”
“Right, but you also owe me for your aunt’s party, so…I think this balances out.”
Dex pursed his lips. “It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“It doesn’t.”
“If you want to go on a date with me, just ask.”
“I did, and you got drunk.”
“You didn’
t specify that I couldn’t. Besides, I was wearing the world’s grossest panties and I needed to get rid of that memory.” I paused. “You should be more specific next time you ask me out.”
He raised his eyebrows. Slowly, he ran his fingertips up the curve of my jaw and pushed my hair behind my ear.
“Why do you always do that?” The words escaped me before I could think about it.
“Do what?” His fingers fell through the tips of my hair, and the strands fluttered back against my shoulder.
I lifted my hand to touch my hair. “My hair. You always tuck it behind my ear.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s so tender and that’s the total opposite of everything I know about you.”
He momentarily dipped his head with a smile, before lifting his gaze to meet mine again. “Because,” he said softly, running his fingertips along the path they’d just taken… Along the side of my temple, curving behind my ear, down my neck. “Your hair is so crazy and… It hides your face. And I like seeing your face.”
Oh.
“Oh,” I squeaked. “Well, okay.”
“Have dinner with me tonight. Sober dinner. Somewhere that isn’t your house so it isn’t awkward.” He cupped my chin. “Please?”
I looked at him. Really looked at him. At his deep blue eyes that held mine so firmly, at his full lips and stubbled jaw…
“Okay.” It came out a little more than whisper. I cleared my throat and said, “But only because I owe you.”
His mouth twitched. “Only ‘cause you owe me.”
***
I stared at the menu a little too hard. My gaze lingered on the salmon before I ultimately landed on the burger and stared a hole through the page.
This was weird. This wasn’t pizza at my place, this was dinner. I was in heels. Jeans and a pretty shirt, but still heels. This made this more than dinner.
Heels made this a date.
Ugh, heels…
I was definitely a flats girl. Sneakers, flat boots, flip flops… Give me those over back-breaking stilettos any day.
“You look like you’re trying to shoot a laser through the menu with your eyes,” Dex remarked.
I put the menu down. The next clue this was a date? He was wearing a shirt. No tie or jacket, but a shirt. White. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Top two buttons open. Fitted enough that I could perv on his biceps every time he bent his arms.
What? I was shameless. That much had already been established.
“Do you not think this is awkward?” I asked him, touching my fingers to the base of my wine glass.
All right, yes, I was a lush, but it was necessary. Hair of the dog and all that.
A few hours late, but whatever.
“You’re making it awkward.” His lips twisted to the side. “It’s just dinner, Jamie. Friends have dinner all the time.”
“We’re not friends. You said so.”
“True. What about non-friends who fuck? Can they have dinner?”
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Non-friends who fucked, you mean.”
He looked at me for a moment. “No, I’m pretty sure I mean non-friends who fuck.”
“Fucked,” I repeated.
“You don’t wanna do that again?”
I choked on my own spit. “Again?”
“No need to sound so horrified. Fucking hell.”
Now, I choked on my own laughter. “I didn’t mean—oh my god.”
“What can I get you, folks?”
We both jolted as the server, Georgia Hopkins, appeared at our table. A grade younger than me in school, she eyed us both as we shared a look and I picked back up my menu.
“I’ll have the ten-ounce rump steak.” Dex shut his menu and handed it back to her.
“And for you?” she asked, flicking her red hair over her shoulder.
“The cheeseburger. Thanks.” I gave her the menu without looking at her.
What? She’d stolen my boyfriend once upon a time.
I’d been sixteen, but a boyfriend stealer was a boyfriend stealer, my friend.
Dex raised an eyebrow at me.
“She stole my boyfriend in sophomore year.”
“Ouch.”
“Kinda. He got busted for drugs three years later and she was in his car.” I sipped my wine. “That was fun.”
“Small towns,” he muttered. “Bunch of weirdos.”
“Hey!” I threw my napkin across the table at him. “I’m not weird. I’m simply…unforgiving. I remember shit.”
“That doesn’t bode well for me, does it?”
“What? After you fire me next week?” I leaned back. “I don’t care. You were always going to fire me.”
His hand hovered around the base of his beer glass. “Was I?”
“Based on everything I know about you? Yes.”
“What if you don’t know me at all?”
I watched him for a moment.
How his fingers twitched against the table.
How his eyelashes fanned over his cheeks when he blinked.
How his teeth grazed over his lower lip.
“Then I don’t know,” I admitted, twirling the stem of my glass. “You’re just fucking with me now.”
“How am I fucking with you? We don’t really know anything about each other. We bickered too much.”
“Are you saying we should get to know each other?”
“You sound horrified about all my suggestions.”
“Well, they are a little out of character.”
His lips twitched. “I told you. You don’t really know me that well. You know know—”
I pointed toward the door. “If you bring up what I said while intoxicated, I swear to God, I will walk right out of that door.”
His laughter filled the air and he shook his head. “All right, all right. I won’t bring it up. Right now.”
“You’ve brought it up enough times today. Any more than two and it’s ridiculous.”
“I am ridiculous. You know that.”
I tilted my glass toward him. “Now, that I can agree on.” I sipped, meeting his eyes. “You really want to get to know each other?”
“You already asked me that.” A smile stretched his lips.
“I know. Just double checking.”
He flattened his hands on the table, palms up and fingers splayed. “We work together. You…might be proving me wrong… So, why not?”
Folding my arms, I sat back in my chair and eyed him. I didn’t believe him—I felt like there as an ulterior motive that I couldn’t figure out, but I’d play along.
Our entire relationship was based on us playing along with each other, after all. If it wasn’t broken, why fix it?
“Fine,” I said slowly. “Let’s do that…for whatever reason you aren’t telling me.”
Laughter danced in his eyes. “What’s your favorite movie?”
“Really? We’re going to do twenty questions?”
Dex paused. “I could probably think up twenty questions if you wanted me to.”
“I didn’t say I wanted you to.”
“I think I have twenty now.”
Dear God, no.
“What’s your favorite movie?” he repeated.
I sighed. Was I really going to do this? Yes. Yes, I was. “That’s tough. I don’t really watch movies.”
“You don’t watch movies?”
I shook my head. “I prefer TV shows. But if I really had to pick…I don’t know. Home Alone?”
“Are you asking me if that’s your favorite?” A tiny smirk formed on his face.
“I’m just throwing it out. I do watch it about fifty times every Christmas, so I guess it’s my favorite.” I paused. “What’s yours?”
“Power Rangers. The original. No contest.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I always wanted to be the black one. Everyone I knew wanted to be red.” He smiled as he took a sip from his beer. “Favorite food?”
“Tacos.
I thought that was obvious.”
“Mine, too. See—we have something in common.”
“We’re both mechanics who like tacos. Hold the press—that’s front-page news.” I rolled my eyes.
“It’s a start.” He grinned. “Favorite color?”
Oh Jesus, he was serious about the twenty questions thing.
“Don’t have one. Yours?”
“Whatever color lipstick you’re wearing.”
I stared at him. “That was either really cheesy, or a lame attempt at a pick-up line. Or both.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I admit, it wasn’t my best. What’s your favorite pizza topping?”
I blinked. “You’re just asking me things you already know now. Are you really going to make me sit through 20 questions?”
He grinned, and I knew the answer.
Yes.
Yes, he was.
***
Two hours later, we were lying on the grass in the park, and I knew far more about Dexter Ryne than I knew about myself.
I knew he hated anything tomato until he was fifteen. He couldn’t swim until he was eight, and he still, to this day, wouldn’t swim underwater because he almost drowned when he was six. I knew he preferred the rain over the sun, but he hated being cold, and I knew that he hated long toenails with a passion.
Just like he knew I loved brussels sprouts but couldn’t stand carrots. He knew I hated being hot, and owned twenty-seven pairs of thick and fluffy socks. He also knew that I was a ballet dancer when I was younger but now could barely hold tune to the macarena, and nothing freaked me out more than spider webs.
Dinner had been this weird mish-mash of facts, and it’d only continued as we’d left the restaurant and walked to the park, even as we’d detoured to grab coffee.
Dex knocked over his empty cup as he rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. “I need to know. How do you store your sugar and salt if you baked a cake with salt?”
“Ugh, okay.” I dropped my head down to the grass before jerking it back up. “So, my mom is a total neat-freak. She has this serious organizational system in the pantry, and basically, everything that gets bought has its own jar, and they all have these little chalk signs attached to the front of them.”
“I think I can see where this is going.”