Funny thing, this whole time talking to Sam, he hadn’t been nervous once. He hadn’t even had to pretend to be Linx.
“What time do you get off?” he asked, and with that question, he was no one but himself.
And that was only mildly frightening.
Chapter Seven
SAMANTHA
“Hi.”Sam kept a skip in her step as she approached Tanner.
Of course, he waited at his car like the teen idol he should’ve been ten years ago. She met him down the street in front of the flower shop, so Babushka and the others wouldn’t get any ideas about stalking them and getting involved. More involved.
Sam had pulled her hair into a low ponytail that fell over one shoulder. She hoped it’d project that she’d tried, but not so hard anyone needed to be disappointed when this didn’t work out.
If. If it didn’t work out.
“If. Not when,” she said under her breath.
“Huh?” Tanner asked, that grin of his probably costing thousands in orthodontia to be so perfect. “I missed that?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head, clenching and then unclenching her hands. “Talking to myself.”
He grinned. “I talk to myself, too.” He totally eye-fucked her as she approached.
That was fine. She did the same to him, so even Steven or whatever.
“Sometimes talking to myself is the only way to have a good conversation,” she said, adjusting the long strap of her purse. Maybe she should wear it cross body instead?
“Then you’re probably talking to the wrong people,” he said.
“Probably.”
Butterflies trounced around her stomach and the air between them sizzled like an electrical storm brewed.
His eyes trailed over her again with that same heated gaze from before. Each of the fine hairs along her arms seemed to stand straight at the perusal and a knot of anticipation she hadn’t had in forever tied itself up in her stomach.
Her Ashley-approved yellow shirt and jeans went with the Sam-approved plain Converse. Under it all, she’d gone with a black bikini. One with the extra coverage on the tummy, but that also lifted the ladies up, so they stood at attention.
The small black bag she brought along dangled over her arm, falling to her hip. Ashley had made her swear on a whole bucket of mozzarella sticks that she wouldn’t cover up with the jean jacket, but Sam brought it along, anyway. Just in case it got chilly.
She stepped closer, right into the storm.
“Hey.” Tanner hadn’t changed from before. Same tee. Same jeans. Same sneakers.
He lifted a finger to brush the edge of her jawline.
“Hey,” she replied, since she didn’t know what else to say and she’d already said, “Hi.”
Drat. He dropped his hand.
“You have a sports car,” she said. Of course, he had a fancy car like this. The guy made loads of cake and he probably liked to go fast.
“I do.” He patted the hood.
Sam knew next to nothing about cars—she didn’t even own one. The bus worked fine, and it’s not like she ever left or went far enough to need one.
The one thing she knew about cars is that the ones with the spoilers and the special rims and the shiny paint drew attention. Not like she expected him to dive into an old Chevy van, but would it have killed him to pick out a Prius or go with a Tesla? Was a muscle car totally necessary?
