“Hello, Brick.”
He took her in, head to flats. Slowly.
“You clean up real nice.”
“Oh, please. This is…nothing. This is how I dress to clean my own kitchen.”
He laughed, the real one, the one that came up out of his chest and made the creases at his eyes deepen. “And here I’ve been picturing you in a little maid’s outfit for that task.”
She rolled her eyes and suspected they’d stay permanently in that position for the rest of this night, which would be him lobbing inappropriate comments and her pretending to be offended.
“My car’s over there,” she said, pointing to the T-Bird. “We can take it.”
He gave her a sideways look. “My hog’s over there. We’ll take that.”
“No, we won’t.”
“Is this a hill you’re gonna die on, Mags?”
“No, but that’s a motorcycle I’m going to die on, so if you want to go on this little jaunt together, you’ll go in my car. If not, I’ll meet you there.”
“You don’t like to drive at night.”
What she didn’t like was that he remembered everything she’d ever said and a lot of those things were said one night at Gator Jack’s after he’d coerced her to drink shots of whiskey, of all vulgar things.
“I can drive at night.”
He came a few steps closer and gave a sly smile under that beard. “And then I’ll have to make another cheesecake in the middle of the night to bribe the cops again and spring you.”
In other words, she owed him.
“Compromise,” she suggested. “We’ll take my car…with no top.”
He considered the offer while he studied her intently. “Only because you put makeup on for me.”
She swallowed, not sure if she loved or hated that he’d noticed. “My convertible or meet there? Which is it, Brick?”
He scooped her arm into the crook of his and grinned. “You drive a hard bargain, Magnolia. But you’re right. Let’s go on four wheels.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Topless.”
She heard him laugh under his breath as they walked to the car and she pulled out the key, which he snagged from her.
“My manhood cannot take being in the passenger seat,” he said, going around to open the door for her and not waiting for an argument. “My lady?” He gave a flourishing wave. “Your chariot awaits.”
She bit back a smile and the fight, giving in to the pleasure of being driven.
Her hair was a wreck by the time they arrived at a place she’d driven by with nothing but a faint hope that she’d never have tostep inside. He waited patiently while she smoothed her silver strands and let him open the door for her.
Crabby’s looked even worse up close. A low cinderblock building painted a regrettable shade of teal, with a hand-lettered sign promising live music and ladies’ night and a dollar off pitchers.
They walked through the parking lot full of pickups and one Lexus that Maggie suspected belonged to someone’s mistress.
“If there are peanut shells on the floor, I am leaving.”
“How else would the mice eat?” he joked, doing that thing of holding her arm in his again. “I’m teasing, Mags. You’re going to be surprised. About six years ago, a friend of mine took the place over. It’s still a dive, but it’s epic.”
She wasn’t sure what “epic” meant, but took a deep breath and hoped for the best.
Inside, she was indeed pleasantly surprised.
