He gave a short laugh. He said nothing for a time.
He was either still recovering, or lost in thoughts of his own.
“Can I have your phone number?” he said, suddenly. Almost diffidently.
She gave a short laugh. “We’re doing things all out of order, you and I.”
“Maybe we’re a little rusty at... whatever this is.”
“Yeah,” she said.
They were quiet a moment, both of them feeling a little awkward. Because it was true, neither of them really knew what this was, only that they liked it. And maybe they even feared it a little.
And then he fished out his phone and wordlessly handed it to her.
And like a shy girl who had just met a cute guy in a party, she wordlessly took it and typed her number into it.
“Thanks,” he said.
She handed him her phone and he did the same thing.
And then she stood back. And that need overtook her: to get some space, to process what this was.
Then she stood on her toes and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek and had already taken about five steps away from him before he could say another word.
“I think I’m going to walk home now,” she told him, in case that wasn’t clear.
“Got what you came for, eh?” He was teasing.
“You know it.” Who was this saucy person who had a quick answer for everything? It was the real her, that was who.
“You sure you don’t want a ride?”
“Just had one, thanks.”
He smiled crookedly. “If you can still walk, then I didn’t do my job right.”
She turned around and walked backward. “Well, that gives you something to aspire to, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t want you to getcomplacent.”
“Dammmmmn,” he murmured, with great admiration.
The first time he’d willingly said that word in that way in years.
She tossed him a saucy smile over her shoulder.
J. T. smiled to himself. He’d rather see her home, make sure she was tucked safely behind her own locked door. But he suspected she needed a little time and space.
And he could give that to her.
He was aware as he watched her go of a shortness of breath that was less about the rigors of Sex on a Truck. Funny. It was more like one of those damn cupids at the Angel’s Nest shooting him straight in the heart with an arrow.
CHAPTER12
Britt got the text around the middle of the lunch rush at the Misty Cat, which meant a half dozen people, including Casey Carson, heard her squeak, then saw her clap a hand over her mouth.
I was wondering if you were free for dinner at Maison Vert this week? Any night is good for me.
J. T. M.
