Instead he makes me feel all swoony and stupid. Like my head is getting lighter from all the brain cells evaporating the longer I look at him, and I wonder if he can feel me staring.
When he turns to meet my gaze, I know he feels me staring. He smiles, the sight of it reassuring my nervous, racing heart, and I blurt out the first question I can think of. “What does the D stand for?”
He frowns and shakes his head. “What D?”
“Your middle name. You’re Andrew D. Callahan.” I pause, hoping his parents aren’t listening to us. His dad is backing the car out of the garage and Adele is murmuring something to him, but I can’t make out what.
“Ah.” He nods, as if he knows an age-old mystery. “What do you think it stands for?”
Hmm, he’s acting kind of flirtatious, too. I like it. Makes the moment lighter, especially with the tension-filled drama going on in the front seat. “Dumbledore?”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “No.”
I tap my index finger against my chin. “Daniel.”
“Nope.”
“Dylan.”
“Huh. That goes with the whole Callahan Irish theme, but wrong guess.”
I go through a few other D choices, all of them ridiculous, when I finally hit on the right one.
“David,” I whisper.
His smile grows. “You finally got it.”
“Do I win a prize?” I return his smile.
“Sure,” he says easily. “What do you want?”
“You’re asking me? Shouldn’t you determine the prize?”
“You can have whatever you want.” He skitters histhumb across the palm of my hand, sending a flurry of shivers across my skin. “Name it and it’s yours.”
We haven’t kissed yet. Well, I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek last night, but other than that, nothing. And that’s what I want. A kiss from Drew. I’m not talking a long, drawn-out, tongue-twisting make-out session, though that sounds promising.
I just want to feel his lips press against mine once. I want to know how soft they are, what he tastes like, how warm his breath is. I want to enjoy that first, tentative, thrilling moment of kissing someone.
But am I gutsy enough to ask for it?
Drew
She’s hesitant and I don’t know why. Anticipation pours through my veins as I wait for her reply. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but it seems to have gotten into her, too, and we’re flirting with each other. For real and not because we have to, but because we want to.
It helps to ease the tension that’s emanating from the front seat. I have no idea what those two are fighting about, but I’m not going to let them get me down. I have a gorgeous girl sitting next to me in the dark, in the backseat of a car, wearing the sexiest dress I’ve ever seen. It coverspractically her entire front but molds to her curves, and the skirt is so damn short, it wouldn’t take much for me to sneak my hand under there and touch her.
But it’s the back of the dress that gets me, makes me want to peel her out of it and see Fable in all her naked glory. That low-cut vee and how it dips to the middle of her back, the way it exposes all of that smooth, silky skin, the delicate lace laying against her flesh. Shit, I’m a goner every time I look at her. My fingers literally itch to touch her there.
Touch her everywhere.
“I want you to kiss me,” she finally says, her voice so soft, I almost can’t hear her. In fact, I’m wondering for the craziest moment if I’m hallucinating, because no way in hell did she just ask me to kiss her.
Shooting a glance toward the front seat, I notice they’re not paying us any mind. The satellite radio is going, playing some smooth jazz shit, and they’re talking to each other in low, dark murmurs. They both sound pissed with each other and I wonder if any of this involves me.
Right now, I don’t care. I should never care. What they fight about isn’t my problem.
“Drew.” Her soft voice draws me back and I look at Fable, find myself lost in her green eyes. “Did you hear me?”
