I roll my eyes. “Never mind, I’ll call a tow now then you can…”
He rushes to me and gently tugs at my arm. “I’m teasing. It seems my humor isn’t as appreciated here as it was in New York.”
“Really? People in New York don’t strike me as easily amused.”
“They’re not.” He becomes distant for a brief second before the grin returns. “Anyway, what do you say?”
I study him for a moment. “How do I know you’re not a skinner?”
“A what?” he asks, leaning forward as if he didn’t hear me correctly.
“A skinner. You know, someone who kidnaps girls and then skins them alive.”
He laughs. “That’s not my thing. I like the skinonmy women.”
I ponder his words and bite my lip, wondering if a guy with a blow-up doll is at all trustworthy. “Where is she?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Your passenger from this morning. Or would she prefer being called by her name?”
He grins. “She’s in the trunk. Want to see her?”
“Um, no. I’m uncomfortable enough without being reminded you’re a pervert.”
He doesn’t correct me, and it makes me wonder if I’m right.
He takes a step toward his car. “If it makes you feel any better, you can sit in the back seat.”
Riding in the back seat sounds much more appealing. “Where do you live and how do you even know I’m going to make your drive better and not worse?”
“I live out toward Huntington Beach. Anywhere you’re headed is fine by me. I’ll re-route.”
“You live near Huntington Beach?” I ask skeptically. He doesn’t seem like a beach kind of guy.
“Yeah, why?” His face changes. “Is that a bad area?” He moves his fingers through his hair and continues without giving me a chance to respond.
“My real estate agent said it was nice, but I haven’t had time to look around. I heard it’s a big tourist area in the summer, but I’m fine with that as long as I’m near the water. I thought about Santa Monica, but there weren’t any houses that interested me. He found me this great place on the corner of—”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “Do you always talk this much?”
He smiles. “Too much for you?”
I nod with wide eyes and he zips his lips. I open my car door and remove my bag. Immediately he’s at my side, taking it from me. “That’s not necessary,” I tell him, attempting to retrieve my bag from his hands.
“It is for me.” He steps toward the front of my car, picks up his briefcase, and places both in his back seat. I lock my doors and edge toward his back passenger door. He rushes around and opens the front for me. I guess he was kidding about the back seat.
“Again, not necessary.”
“No, it really is.”
“Okay, my saying it’s not necessary is my attempt at being polite. What it really means isplease don’t.”
“My mother would have my ass if I let a lady open a door for herself.”
“While I applaud your mother for teaching you manners, your opening doors for me feels like a date. This is not a date, so please let me open my own doors.”
He stares at me intently for a brief moment. “I’ll agree for now on the condition that when I do take you out on a date, I get to openallthe doors.”
