“I’m the sorry-ass idiot who let her get away,” Dan says, never taking his eyes off me. His voice sounds like a roll of thunder before a summer storm. I feel it deep in my belly. “Tell me it’s not too late, Carson. Please.”
“Carson? What’s going on?” Jack asks, but it sounds more likea whine than a question. Which means I have absolutely no problem letting a smile spread across my face.
“I could never say no to you, Dan,” I say. I rise from my chair, then look down at Jack, who looks like the stock market just tanked. “I’m so sorry, Jack, but this is the love of my life.”
His mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”
Dan slips his hand into mine, his long, strong fingers giving me a squeeze.
“Sorry to do this to you, man,” he says. “But you spent some time with her. You know she’s special. I just couldn’t go another minute without hearing the sound of her voice.”
I nearly bark out a laugh. I’m not sure Jack could pick my voice out of a lineup. I’m surprised it didn’t come out as a croak when I finally got to use it upon Dan’s arrival. I’m surprised Jack isn’t hoarse from all the talkinghe’sdone. But I bite down on my lip and gaze up at Dan, trying to mask my laughter with a lustful look.
Which, let’s be real, isn’t too damn hard.
I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll laugh, so it’s good that Dan gives Jack a shrug and then turns, still holding my hand, and tugs me through the brewery. By the time we get out on the sidewalk, I can’t contain myself anymore. I break into a fit of giggles as the hot, muggy June air envelops me. It’s a welcome reprieve from the overly air conditioned brewery. It’s also blissfully quiet.
Summer in Bloomington has always been my favorite, which made it extra sad that I always had to move home during it, since I lived in a dorm and then a sorority house. I’d work at the church nursery, help with Vacation Bible School, and babysit, but Cardinal Springs was still deadly boring. Grace was there, of course, and it was great to be reunited with her. But every chance I got, I’d drive the forty-five minutes back to Bloomington, enjoy the quiet, sleepy college town, empty of students, and wish I had an apartment or a room in one of the old craftsman bungalows in Vinegar Hill. The summer before my senior year, I planned to sublet an apartment and get a job working with the orientationoffice at the university, but then my mom broke her ankle right before the end of the semester, so I ended up moving home to help her.
“I hope that was okay,” Dan says, his bravado from inside the brewery melting into nervous energy.
“It was great!” I assure him. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you right now.”
“From your text, I wasn’t sure if I should come over swinging or not.”
“Oh god, no. He was fine, just really boring. Like,soboring. And into crypto, which he kept talking about like I had any clue what he meant.”
“Crypto is just multilevel marketing for white dudes without personalities,” Dan says. “It’s the Amway of international banking.”
“How do I keep matching with these losers?” I groan, then raise my fist at the sinking sun. “Which god have I angered? Did I kick puppies in a past life? Burn down an orphanage? At this point, I don’t even know what a good date is supposed to be like anymore!” I look around for something to kick, but all I find is an empty Dasani bottle discarded on the curb. I pick it up and toss it into the trash can, but hard. You know, to make a point. “Ugh, I wore good underwear to this. What a waste!”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
I spin on my heel so fast my dress flutters. Is he still doing a bit? Is this more of theYou’re the love of my life, Carsonthing he was doing inside? Because I would be happy to riff on that idea all night.
“What do you mean?” I ask, because I want this to be clear. I don’t want to embarrass myself by assuming. I want him, but only if he wants me.
Dan shrugs, looking casually past me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He seems to weigh something in his mind, engage in a little mental tennis match, before taking a deep breath.
“You want a good date? You can have a good date.”
“With you?”
“Yeah. So you can see what a good date is supposed to be like. I’d hate for you to get duped again.” He swallows, then shrugs. “If you want.”
I want. I ammadeof want. Want is coursing through my veins in such a high concentration that I may simply combust right here on this sidewalk, leaving behind a charred black circle on the pavement and the lingering scent of desire.
Luckily that doesn’t happen, because as Dan just pointed out, this isn’t a real proposition. It’s basically research. Desire is not a factor.
I mean, it shouldn’t be. It very much is for me, but I’ll shove that down like all the other feelings we Midwesterners are so good at ignoring.
Though when I open my mouth and something that sounds like “Ummughhhhyes” comes out, its doesn’t feel significantly less embarrassing than the combustion thing.
“Good. Meet me back at the house,” he says. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and spins them on his finger, then gives me a lazy grin that’s hot as fuck. “I’ll take it from there.”
Because I learned my lesson from my date with Goober Gabe and drove myself to meet Jack, I have a forty-five minute drive back to Cardinal Springs to think about what the hell is going on.
The drive is torturous.
