His fingertips grazed my thighs just as the seatbelt clicked. I gasped and raised my hips.
“Easy, pidge.” He smirked, patting my thigh. “We don’t want to ruinyourreputation.”
I dug my fingers into the leather seat, my heart racing at the idea of all those people at the bar—or our school—gossiping. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” He knelt by the passenger’s side, waiting, like I was a patient who’d buzzed him over. Was his bedside manner this sweet?
My mind flashed with a bizarre fantasy: me, in nothing but a hospital gown, and him spreading my legs to play doctor with me.
I forced myself out of my daydream. “I think having ‘fun’ requires some element of vulnerability.”
He hummed and laid a warm hand on my knee.
I clasped it in a plea. “So, I was wondering if we could agree upon some kind of confidentiality. I mean, we can generally acknowledge we’re involved. But I don’t want to be the subject of any ratings or anecdotes or anything embarrassing. If and when I go back to school, we’d be in a lot of the same circles, professionally.”
I didn’t need any coworkers gossiping about how thoroughly he’d examined me.
His voice softened. “I’m just driving you home, Tori.”
Was that all he’d tell anybody?
He kissed my hand as if to pay homage to a nonexistent ring. A promise he’d serve me.
Warmth flared through my extremities.
I giggled and withdrew my hand from his grasp. “You’re too much.”
“And yet, I’ve never thrown underwear at someone,” he said, standing.
“That was an accident,” I insisted.
He closed the door on me and smirked, strutting around the car to get into the driver’s seat. That gave me plenty of time to come up with a better comeback the next time he mentioned that thong slingshot action. Like he probably deserved it.
Angel stretched his fingers over the steering wheel. “So, where do you want to go?”
Not home. Not another bar, either. Nowhere distracting.
I blurted out the first semi-secluded date spot I imagined as a preteen. “How about the beach?”
“In February?” he asked incredulously.
I slunk down in my seat. “I thought it’d be romantic.” That was probably naïve.
He patted my knee. “You know what, you’re right. It’ll be quiet this time of year. Quiet and pretty.”
“I hope so.” I hugged my seatbelt, not sure where else we could go for any kind of privacy.
Jen would throw a fit if I brought someone home, and I didn’t want to introduce him to my parents on our first ‘date.’ Neighbors might be suspicious if we parked up the street or walked around at night.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“Not too far from here, actually,” he said, gesturing to the approaching shoreline. He hadn’t even needed to consult directions.
“Did you go to the beach often?” I asked.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “When I was little. My mom loves it there: sand between her toes, the sun on her skin, and the water right there to cool off in. But heaven help you if you get her hair wet.”
I giggled at the mental image of young Angel getting chased through the waves. Maybe that was where he’d developed such quick reflexes.
