She answered on a sigh. “April 19th. And yours is February 6th. I know that. Because I care.”
He continued on for what felt like hours. All through dinner. Through three refills of her drink. On and on and on. The place was basically a ghost town by the time she’d hit the bottom of her fourth cocktail, her throat dry from answering all of his questions. And still he went on.
“How old are you?” He was as bright and bushy as when he’d started, but she swayed where she sat, ready to give out from the mental exhaustion of his inane inquisition.
“Rude,” she mumbled, sucking on her drink until it made an awful suckling noise.
“Just answer.”
“Twenty-six.” She yawned.
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“Dirty Dancing.” It took her a minute to realize what she’d said. In fact, she might not have realized it at all if his eyes hadn't lit up when he’d heard her answer.
“I knew it. Get your coat.” He tossed money on top of their check. He couldn’t be bothered to hide his smug grin.
“Well, it’s only one of my favorite movies. I have many,” she argued as she followed him out into the parking lot.
“Tell yourself whatever you like. In the end, we both will know that you’re a filthy liar. I won that contest.” He opened the door for her again, but she was too distracted by her mistake to notice.
“You did not. You lied too, I could tell.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited from him to climb into the car with her.
After he joined her, he turned and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Oh, please. I was totally right about your favorite food being fillet mignon. You always do this thing where you clear your throat then get all alpha dog on somebody when you lie. I’ve seen you do it in meetings hundreds of times. You have a serious tell.”
“You have no proof.” Even
as he said it, she could hear that alpha tone grating on the edge of his words.
She smirked. “I don’t need it. I have the victory in my heart.”
They sat in silence for a little while as Garret wound around the quiet country streets on the way back to Rachael’s house.
She reached for the radio, but everything looked so shiny and newfangled that she was worried she’d accidentally press a self-destruct button.
When they’d rounded the corner to her street, he cleared his throat and said, “You know, there are other questions we need to discuss—”
“You asked for a complete lineage of my family and for my complete medical history. What on earth could we still need to go over?”
He ignored her question and stared ahead at the road. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to rush into the unpleasantness, but I don’t really see any other way around it.”
“Unpleasantness?”
He parked his car in the middle of her driveway and unfastened his seatbelt, turning to look her full in the face, “We’ll have to know about each other. You know, sexually.”
“My family doesn’t do medieval bedding ceremonies. I think we’ll be okay.” She tried to brush the question off, but inside a knife twisted at his words. Knowing each other sexually equated to “unpleasantness” for him?
Sure, it might be a little weird, considering their relationship, but unpleasant seemed so…harsh. It certainly the worst thing they could be doing. In fact, the more she thought about it, the less “unpleasant” it seemed.
When he spoke again, she found herself focusing on his chiseled lips, suddenly hyper-aware of his every movement.
“People aren’t shy,” he said. “We’ll have to touch. We’ll have to act like we’re used to touching. You can’t cringe away from me every time I reach for you.” He rested a hand on her forearm and the last thing she wanted to do was flinch away. His skin was hot, and rough, and gentle.
Could he feel the way gooseflesh rose when he’d touched her? Could he tell the way her heart already sped up in her chest?
Garret leaned back in his seat, staring up through the sunroof for a moment before turning to her again. He was handsome, really. Much more handsome than she’d noticed before. And there was something else. His smile was sort of crooked. Not even in that practiced way that some guys had. It was genuine, and oh-so-charming.