She climbs in and buckles her seatbelt without uttering a word. Before I pull out of the driveway, I start to say, “So, where do you—” she cuts me off.
“Just drive, please.” Her tone, flat.
I nod and back out of the driveway and head, well, somewhere. What could have upset her this much between now and when I saw her earlier today? I hope it isn’t something I’ve done. Did I send too many texts when I got to her house? We ride in silence, my mind still spiraling as to what has put Regan in this mood. The AC swirls her perfume and her usual vanilla scent around me. I inhale it, and somehow the familiar smell eases my nerves.
“You alright?” I finally ask.
“I’m fine,” she snips. “Just pick a place.” If there is anything I know about women, when they say they’re fine—they’re not fine. Her fingers fiddle with the hem of her red dress, exposing more of her thigh. I want to reach out and touch it, to try to calm her and to selfishly touch her again. Then I think of the perfect place to go, and I start in that direction.
“Did something happen?” I try again.
She sighs. “It’s my dad.” She takes a breath before explaining further. “He just had to grill me with a ton of questions before I left.”
Meaning, Karsen Brady knows she’s out with me. That makes every cell in my body clam up. Holy shit, Karsen Brady, racing legend, knows his daughter is out with her rival. The nerves instantly return at that knowledge.
“He forgets that I’m an adult, and he’s so overprotective,” she says. “Just because I live at home doesn’t mean I have to tell him everything.”
I grip the steering wheel hard, a bit of anger at the man that I was fearful of a few minutes ago and a bit of somethingelse I have yet to identify. She’s right—she’s an adult and can make her own decisions. The other part—jealousy. That she has a parent looking out for her, something I so desperately wish I had.
“I’m sure that’s hard,” I manage to say.
“I would live on my own, but it’s just easier with him being my crew chief and all.” She places her head into her hands. “I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t be ranting about this.”
I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. “No, you’re fine. It’s just—” I can’t say it out loud, though she already knows.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I’m such an asshole.”
“You’re not an asshole. You have a right to your feelings.” This time I give into the urge to touch her, and reach over to take her hand, lacing our fingers together. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away.
“Where’re we going, anyway?”
“The Pink Balcony. I’ve heard it’s amazing.”
Her eyes grow wide in excitement. Maybe I can turn this night around after all.
“I haven’t been there, either. I’m excited to try it. I hear the food is to die for.”
The Pink Balcony is more known as a local date spot, not the reason I brought her here, but Regan deserves to be taken somewhere nice. To be treated like the woman she is. To be pampered and shown she’s special.
But it’s still not a date.
I park the truck, and she turns to me before we climb out. “You look nice, by the way.” She scans me and I really like the way it feels with her eyes on me and only me. It makes my cock twitch behind my zipper. I think back to how she felt on my lap, how warm her skin felt, how she grinded down on me. I need to get a grip or I’m going to have a hard on before we even enter the restaurant.
“You look amazing, Regan,” I compliment back with asmile. I saw her when she got into the truck, but up close is ever better. I scan her once more as she did me, and I know she likes it by the way her tongue darts out over her bottom lip.
Fuck, I need to get out of this truck before I do something unsavory.
We walk inside and are seated by the hostess almost immediately. We are handed our menus and we both start to look them over. The waiter arrives to take our drink orders. Regan orders her Modelo like I knew she would, and I get a local draft.
Glancing up from behind her menu, a small smirk deigns her features.
“What?” I muse.
“You and your local drafts,” she trills.
“You and your Modelo,” I mimic back to her.
She sticks her tongue out in defiance. The very same tongue that I had been tasting earlier today. One I’d like to taste again.
