by M. Q. Barber
The seatbelt and his hand held her captive. Undulating his tongue, he created a wave pulling her under. Their lips slid over and around each other time and again, and her every squeak and cry received an affirming bass hum in reply.
Drifting away, he tugged her lower lip with his teeth. “How’s your mouth now? Better?”
“Much.” She worked to catch her breath. Her sex throbbed in time with her pulse. The combination added a shake to her voice. “Can I get a prescription for your treatment?”
His gaze, darting to her chest and returning to her face, left a torrent of gratifying confidence in its wake.
She dared a return glance, lower. Faded denim outlined his arousal, a vision for her alone. However powerful his influence on her, she affected him with equal strength.
“Repeat as needed,” he murmured. “No more than fifty times per day. Addiction probable.”
A sliver of doubt pricked her ballooning confidence. “Common side effect of your kisses?” They hadn’t progressed to discussing romantic histories. His charm and skills might’ve caused the same reaction in dozens of women. With his gentlemanly manners, maybe he meant to warn her about getting too attached to avoid a messy breakup later.
Eyes narrowing, he caressed her neck with firm strokes. One finger slipped under the collar of her cover-up. He traced the edge of her spaghetti strap.
Heat swept through her.
“You’d have to ask my exes about that, I guess.” He traced her collarbone and squiggled up her neck, lifting her chin. “I won’t lie to you, Eleanora. I’ve had my share of relationships that didn’t work out. Sometimes the sex was bad, sometimes good. But the timing and the chemistry and the emotional connection never came together.”
He made tearing her gaze from his impossible. Force of will, the deep intensity in his voice, and the gold flecks in his eyes dancing in the evening sunlight kept her spellbound.
“Our lips touch and I’m like a grain silo in August. One spark and the whole place’ll go up.” He teased her mouth, outlining the shape of her lips. “Maybe the addiction I meant was mine for you.”
Metal clanged.
Rob dropped his hand and turned away. “Hold that thought.”
She claimed a deep breath, the spell broken by the theater gates opening.
He eased the pickup forward as the line moved.
Seven days wouldn’t make any man addicted to her, but his pronouncement seemed in earnest, a meaningful admission. Desirability buoyed her confidence.
He paid cash at the booth and guided the truck up the gentle slope. All the way back. The cars in front of them birthed crowds of teens, a sea of tank tops and bikinis and summer tans. More followed in the cars behind.
Rob took a spot near the far end of the row, leaving a dozen empty spaces between his truck and the high-schoolers. Arriving minivans discharged pint-sized patrons closer to the screen. The unwritten code of the drive-in—families in the front, fooling around in the back. Parents with young children had better sense than to park in the last few rows.
Keys jangled. The engine fell silent. With the air conditioning off, the cab heated to stifling. They faced a wall of windbreak pines. They’d have a great view of the screen from the truck bed, though. Over her shoulder, the hot metal waited. “Our first date and you’re getting me in bed already.”
“Well, now I’m feeling the pressure to perform.” He nudged her, a sly smile spreading across his face.
She laughed—at him, at herself, at the oddity of dating after so many years. “I’m sorry. My head’s all over the map today.” Rocking up and down like the seesaw kids clambered over in the playground near the concession stand. Emotional and insecure. God, she hated women who acted desperate and clinging, who manipulated men left and right with wild mood swings.
“First dates’ll make you crazy.” He pulled the keys free. “Trying to be yourself and everything the other person wants when you don’t know what they want.”
He popped his door open, and she followed suit.
“Just be yourself, Eleanora. That’s the woman I want to spend time with. It’s a first date. Things’re bound to be awkward.” He swung out of the pickup. “If I walk away at the end of the night with nothing more than the two kisses I already got, that’s two more than I had this morning.”
She hovered between relieved and insulted as he strolled past the windshield. He didn’t have expectations. Good, because she feared she couldn’t meet them if he did. But he didn’t have expectations. That wasn’t how this worked. Guys pushed and girls caved. Either the script had changed since the last time she’d dated, or Rob didn’t follow one.
He reached across her from the open door, and she jumped.
“Seatbelt.” His strong, earthy scent wafted by her nose. “Didn’t mean to spook you.” He freed her with a click. “C’mon. I brought a Frisbee, or they got mini-golf or sand volleyball, or we could eat first if you’re hungry.”
She hopped out beside him and surveyed the lot. Two hours until sunset, but the spaces filled in a steady stream. In front of the screen, kids kicked soccer balls, played catch, and ran around in games known only to them. Grandparents set up lawn chairs and crowded the horseshoe pit. Shrieks and laughter and car stereos carried over the crunch of gravel under car tires.
“Mini-golf.” Slipping her hand into his, she squeezed. Awkward and perfect. He’d gotten her just right. “I have to warn you, that’s one sport I play well.”
“A challenge.” He returned her squeeze, keeping her hand in his as he walked. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
* * * *
He breathed easier once they had golf clubs in hand, no longer worried she wouldn’t enjoy herself.
Eleanora took the game seriously, with a scrunched nose and angled brows and pursed lips as she lined up her shots. Good ones, too.
“You sure you don’t play pool?” He prided himself on a superb sense of angles and outcomes, but she banked walls and coaxed curves like nobody’s business. “You’ve got the moves.”
Ponytail swinging, she shook her head. “Never tried.”
She bent over and scooped her golf ball from the hole—another par—and her jean shorts tightened across her backside.
He clenched the putter in tense hands. If scooping her up were an option, he’d have his hands under her ass in a hot second. “So you don’t know you aren’t a pool savant.” He lined up his shot as she stepped aside. “I’ll make a ringer out of you yet.”
She scored a birdie on the next hole, extending her lead to two strokes. Her cheerful post-putting dance proved too adorable to resist.
Curling his arm around her waist, he tugged her to him as they waited for the players ahead to finish. “What say you to a wager?”
“You’re ready to admit I’ll beat you?” She tipped her head back and grinned at him. “It’s a little unorthodox to bet against yourself, but okay.”
“I was thinking more the loser owes the winner a number of kisses equal to the difference in scores.” He puckered his lips and pretended to close the gap, bumping his head against her hat brim instead. “But I see you have an advanced tactical defense system in place.”
She giggled, soft and musical. “You make me feel like I’m sixteen.”
“Is that good?”
“It’s—” She turned her head.
He followed her gaze. Players packed the mini-golf course. Families with kids running wild. Teens in groups and pairs, roughhousing and stealing kisses as if the world weren’t watching. Squeals and laughter formed a common bond from the first hole to the last.
“It’s different. Fun. Carefree.” Her chuckle emerged self-conscious and tight. “I’m not sure I know what to do with that.”
“Never too old to learn.” Hell, she deserved fun and carefree. If she let him, he’d make sure she got them.
“You calling me old, old man?” Her playful shove failed to dislodge him, but he released her anyway. “You try and keep up.” She bent and se
t her ball on the tee.
He gritted his teeth. With the pretty view she offered, keeping up wasn’t his problem tonight. Staying down, now, that one gave him fits.
They tied on the next three holes. She overshot the cup on the fourth.
He lined up his shot. “I hope that wasn’t a pity miss, Eleanora.”
She snorted. “And lose a kiss?”
“Colin, slow down!” An unfamiliar woman’s shout called his attention to the crunch and ping of spattering gravel.
A little boy ran full-tilt across the course to a chorus of gripes from annoyed players. A check the other way confirmed his suspicion. Bathroom. The kid would cross their hole in a few seconds. He waited. No sense taking the shot only to have an unpredictable, pint-sized variable knock his careful deliberation astray.
One red tennis shoe smacked into the low, painted concrete sidewall marking the hole. Arms pinwheeling, the boy pitched forward with a cry.
Rob lunged. The putter fell, ignored, as he thrust one arm in front of the boy’s chest to arrest his descent and gripped the back of his shirt in his opposite hand. Swinging the kid forward and up, he set him on his feet on the far side of the hole.
The boy sped off without a glance, though the woman shouted a thanks.
He waved at her and squatted to collect his club. “Think it’s safe for me to putt now?”
“That was amazing. Your reflexes—you—” Eleanora stared at him with an indecipherable expression. “Wow.”
Standing, he shrugged. Instinct and training never disappeared, nor did Mama and Daddy’s admonitions to have a care for the hurts of others. A man did all he could to minimize bad outcomes, no matter if they hit him personal or not. Strong communities got built in those bonds. “I’ve always been good with my hands.”
“Always?” Her tone hinted at coy flirtation.
Half a dozen ready answers jumped to mind. He resisted. He wanted more from her than feel-good surface conversations with no substance. The name of her favorite stuffed animal as a kid. Whether she feared thunderstorms or danced in the rain. How she’d smile, glowing and exhausted, with a newborn in her arms.
“Earth to Rob?”
He blinked, shaking the vision from his head. “Yup, always. Fixed the machinery on the farm since I was no bigger than that kid is now. Had to best my big brother at something.”
“Tell me about your family?” She slung her putter like a yoke with her wrists over the metal.
“My folks grow wheat out west of Topeka. My brother works with Dad now. I was hell-bent on tech stuff. Joined the Air Force straight outta high school for the education benefits. Two baby sisters. One married quick and moved to the city, and the other did the wandering artist thing for a while. She’s settled down some.” He took the shot and sank the putt. “How about you?”
“My parents still live in Dayton. Mom teaches elementary school. Dad’s an accountant.”
They ambled to the next hole, hips near touching, putters dangling and spinning in loose grips.
“I always took after him. Guess that’s how I ended up in banking.” Shaking her head, she smiled. “No big brothers, but two little sisters, same as you. One’s a stay-at-home mom and the other’s getting her PhD in some paleontology subfield way beyond my understanding.”
“Nobody around here?” He frowned despite the beautiful view as she lined up with a hip waggle. Working with Brian and the rest of the guys, field-tested blood brothers all, he carried his home with him. Hit the highway for the biggies, spending holidays at the farm snug in a sleeping bag while his nephews packed in the bedroom he’d shared for years with his brother.
“No.” She took her shot and hit a bumper at a bad angle. “I moved out here because David—my ex—grew up around here. He joined his uncle’s law firm with the notion he’d take over when his uncle retired. Not that he mentioned his plan before he proposed.”
Her next shot went wide, hitting the wall with enough force to pop the ball out into the gravel.
“We finalized the divorce three months ago, but I’ve been living out here seven years now.” She sighed through her whole body, going to collect her ball with sagging shoulders and trudging feet. “I have a job I love, and a house I hate, and I plod along minute to minute with no idea where my life is going.”
Three months. No wonder she still dealt with the emotional fallout. Alone.
“Sorry. I’m a complete downer. I promised myself I wouldn’t drag you through my failed marriage.”
“You’re not dragging me, Eleanora. I asked.”
“Still.” Scooping up her ball, she shrugged. “Penalty stroke.”
He let the conversation lapse as she re-shot the hole with better focus. If talking strained her comfort with him, he’d take the slow road. But eventually, he’d get her to explain why she hated her house and where she wanted her life to be going. Into his arms would be a nice start.
A few teasing observations about the folks around them had her laughing again by the end of the next hole. She regained her concentration enough to win the game by three strokes.
“Hungry?” He checked the angle of the sun as they turned in their clubs. “The line’ll be long, but best be in it soon.”
“I hear the caramel corn is can’t-miss.” She spoke in a light, flirty tone, one without enough edge to be coy. Not the sort to lead a man on, his honey girl.
“I know I’m looking forward to my taste.” He held her gaze long enough to make his meaning unmistakable.
Her eyes darkened. She didn’t shy away but offered him her hand. “Lead the way.”
Clasping her fingers, he slowed his pace to make hers more natural. On the concession side of the building, the line wound around metal barriers. A corral of humans shuffled toward dinner, their gazes fixed on the menu board hung near the roofline.
He guided her in front of him. Slender ribs curved beneath the span of his hand. His fingers grazed the edge of her bra through her shirt. Accidental, but arousing all the same.
Her shiver rippled through them both.
He stilled his fingers. Bending his neck, he teased at her ear. “I’d be happy to pick you up if you can’t see the menu over the crowd.”
She hip-checked him.
He caught himself, rocking on the balls of his feet. Impressive might for such a little thing. Surprising, too.
“I can manage.” Her bright smile as she craned her head back told him he hadn’t given offense. “But you make too many cracks about my height, and we’re going to have words, buster.”
“Sore spot?”
“What girl doesn’t want to be the tall, willowy image of perfection she sees in every TV show and magazine from the time she’s old enough to toddle? Society has one ideal. If you don’t meet it, well—” She shrugged and waved a dainty hand. “You’ll never measure up to the picture a man has in his head anyway.”
He’d dated compliment-fishers, and Eleanora didn’t capture their wheedling tone or their narcissistic praise-me prattle. Somewhere along the way, she’d gotten the wrong idea stuck in her head.
“Maybe society does—the ad folks and the entertainers.”
She stepped forward as the line moved, and he followed.
“But I tell you what—every man’s got his own image of perfection floating in his head, and they ain’t all those half-starved waifs with giraffe legs. The lucky ones, they spot her one day.”
Turning shadowed eyes on him, she made looking away impossible. He hadn’t managed to put her out of his mind since his first glimpse. Her uncertain stare demanded more, culled confessions and requested revelations.
“Not even looking, and suddenly she’s all he sees.” The lowering sunlight flickered off the awning and streamed toward her face. The dancing highlights added shine to delicate arches, curves where a man might wander lost and find himself again. “Walked right outta his dreams, with a glow like the universe wants to make sure he doesn’t miss her.”
Christ, he’d said way too much. H
e should’ve stopped at the legs. Closed his mouth and let the general statement stand. Foolishness had urged him on.
The barest part appeared in her lips.
Fuck if he didn’t burn to hoist her up on the rail, cement his mouth to hers, and slide his hips between her welcoming thighs.
Distraction. Holy lord, any would do.
“So, you see anything you like?” His frantic mouth stumbled into a bad pickup line. “On the menu.” Black letters filled the white board up front with safe, non-erect squiggles. “Pizza, nachos, corn dog, milkshake, deep-fried Oreos—whatever you want.” He tossed her his most charming smile. “Hell, I’ll buy you one of everything if you can’t decide.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “Save your money, big spender. My clothes are staying on tonight.”
The implication stopped him cold. He’d nearly bungled into telling her their connection had been love at first sight for him, and she’d retreated into Dating 101.
She turned and studied the menu board, still giggling.
She hadn’t meant anything by her flippancy. Flirty-skittish commentary. He understood the surface games.
But the way sex became the top commodity on the dating market and building a relationship became somehow secondary broiled him despite the shade. Every date he’d been on in the last decade—hell, the last two, since he’d first brandished his driver’s license—had come down to the same exchange.
They shuffled along with small steps, inching toward the counter and its fragrant offerings. He stared at the menu without seeing.
In his head, he was seventeen again. Slamming the door of his daddy’s truck and scuffing his shoes through the gravel to the house. Out sixty bucks, a huge chunk of his cash, and nothing to show for his effort. No fooling around. Denied a goodnight kiss. And what had he said when Dad asked about his foul mood?
“I took her out fancy. A sit-down dinner. And the movie after.” Ornery and blue-balled as a stallion without a herd, he’d kicked the porch post. “She owes me.”
“If I were a different sort of man, I’d slap that horseshit right out of your skull, boy.” Daddy’d clamped his shoulder, driving his thumb into Rob’s collarbone. No wiggle room. “Taking a girl out, paying for the meal and the movie, they don’t entitle you to her body. They entitle you to her company and her attention long as she’s willing to give ’em. That’s all. Boys’ll start asking after your little sisters in a year or two. Hormone-drunk hotheads like you, thinking the same things you think, only they’ll be thinking those things about your sisters. You want them thinking they’re entitled?”