“Trust me, I tried. But the back door was locked. Had no other way out.” I shrug. “Also, it’s not a date, hotshot.”
“First of all,” he muses, “it is a date. And second … you don’t have to lie. I know you’re mildly obsessed with me now. I’ll bet you were even naming our babies while you were showering, weren’t you? Do me a favor and at least let me choose the dog’s name.”
I scowl, and my mouth hangs open. “What?” I practically screech. “You are such an idiot.”
Reaching forward, he tugs my bag from my shoulder and puts it on his own before he steps next to me and slings his free arm over my shoulders.
“It’s okay, Nineteen. I did the same thing earlier, right before I fucked my hand,” he murmurs beside my ear. “I’m thinking two, maybe three kids. But you know … we can negotiate that later. As for the dog thing, maybe just one family dog. Like a golden retriever or something. On our Christmas cards, we can put a red bandana on him.”
For a moment, I stare at him. This is the playful side of Hendrix. I’ve met so many versions of him that I can hardly keep up. There’s the downright mean one. The sexy one. The sweet one. The slightly psychotic one. And now … this jokester one.
“You’re actually insane,” I utter, knowing nothing this man says should surprise me by now. “Like, a true, certifiable nutjob.”
His smirk only grows, and so does the humor in his eyes. “Yeah, well, that’s part of what draws you in, isn’t it?” he drawls, and when he’s met with silence, he only tucks me closer against his body. “It’s all right, Nineteen. No need to be ashamed.”
When he releases his hold on me to pull the door open and motions for me to walk through, I point at him. “But no funny business, okay? Dinner, as friends. No … not even friends. Just two people eating food. Got it? So, don’t try to kiss me. No being a perv—well, more than you already have been tonight. Deal?”
“Sure. Yeah. Whatever you say.” He chuckles. “Now, come on, would you? It’s time to get you fed, babe. Because after the game you just played, you deserve it.”
Reluctantly, I pass by him, frowning every step of the way. Because I thought I had him figured out, but now … I’m not even sure.
And that’s the scary thing about guys like Hendrix. Their game issogood that, soon, I won’t even be able to figure out what’s genuine and what isn’t.
HENDRIX
“Thank you. How … gentlemanlike of you,” Isla says with a little grin while I hold the door and she walks out of the restaurant.
She was adorable during dinner because after the game she just played, she was hungry. And for some reason, I loved watching her stuff her face and guzzle down a milkshake. I haveno idea where she puts it all, but the girl can eat. And I love that she didn’t give a fuck about trying to impress me with eating a salad or something healthy either.
It’s nearing the end of September in New England. Sometimes, that means it’s going to be eighty degrees; other times, it will be thirty. Or my all-time favorite is when you need the heat on in the mornings and air-conditioning by the afternoon. But tonight is one of those nights that it’s just windy enough to make it seem colder than it actually is.
As we walk along the sidewalk, she shivers, and without thinking twice, I peel my NEU hoodie off and hand it to her.
Looking down at my hand, she shakes her head. “Oh, thanks, but that’s okay. I’m fine.” She holds her arms out. “I have a long-sleeved shirt on, and you only have a T-shirt. You wear it.”
I stop right in the middle of the sidewalk, narrowing my eyes and stepping toward her.
“Guess I’ll have to put it on for you, huh?”
I lift it over her head before slowly pulling it down over her shoulders. She gives me an annoyed look—or tries to, but the little smirk on her lips proves she’s not really bothered.
“There you go,” I say as she pokes her arms through, and I reach into the neck and pull her hair out of the opening, making it spill over her shoulders.
Suddenly, she’s looking up at me, all shy-like, biting her lip.
“Thanks,” she whispers, swallowing. “I’ll admit … this is better.”
“Good.” I practically rasp the word, like the desperate fucker I am.
This girl makes my mind go crazy when she’s near me. Hell, even when she isn’t … she’s still all I can think about.
As we slowly turn away from each other and start walking, I want to take her hand and hold it while we head back to the truck. I want to grab ahold of her, push her back up againsta streetlamp, and kiss her—among other things that would definitely get us arrested for doing in public. But it would still be worth it.
We share a few glances, both smiling awkwardly, and when we reach my truck, I open the door for her, trying not to look at her ass as she climbs into the passenger seat.
Closing the door, I jog around to the driver’s side. I fight back a shiver, not wanting her to feel bad for wearing my hoodie.
I don’t want to take her home, but when she yawns, I know it’s the right thing to do.
