“So what are your plans?”
“I’ve really enjoyed working in Poppy’s bridal store. But what I want is to go to college and study art.”
“You want to be an artist?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Are your family not okay with that?”
“They’re not big on education. Not for anyone, but especially not for girls.”
He’s watching me. I feel good, looking back into his eyes. Like we’re coming to a kind of an understanding. I feel good with him. He’s smart, he’s hot, I love his sense of humor, though there’s no way I’m letting him know that. And he’s thrillingly strong.
Then his phone rings. He tenses up as he stands and turns from the table.
The mood breaks.
After a short conversation that I don’t hear any of, he tells me, “Liam wants me to take you straight to Lucas.”
“Oh.”
“About that,” his eyes narrow. “I don’t want to give you back.”
“No?” I swallow.
“I’m kind of crazy about you.”
I wasn’t ready for that. “Seriously?”
He looks in my eye and I’m melting again. “Seriously,” he says. “Of all the people you’re determined not to marry, where would I come on the list?”
“Wow! Whoever said the spirit of romance was dead?” My stomach dropped through the floor. “But I never thought of you as on the list at all.”
“Well, good. Then you can put me on the list of people you’re not not going to marry.”
“What, you just decided that? This afternoon?”
“I guess I’ve been working up to it. I love how you handle yourself at a poker table. I love how you handle yourself generally.”
“Are you insane?”
“Obviously. I would have to be. But I’ve realized I would have to be more insane not to want to marry you. You’re brilliant. And you’re gorgeous. And I totally fucking adore you. Even though you look better in my clothes than I do.” His eyes narrow, “I can’t deny it, that is a serious black mark.”
Then he says, “But mainly, I really, desperately want to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you until little replicas of you pop out. And then I want to do it some more.” He cocks his head to one side. “How does that sound to you?”
I swallow again. “It sounds fucking insane. Obviously.” It should. It doesn’t. But I’ll ignore that. “Maybe I should have a glass of red wine after all. It might help me take all of this in.”
He’s not taken in. Insane he may well be, but he’s not any kind of a fool. I jump up as he’s opening the bottle - and I barge into him “Oh, I am so sorry.”
Red wine splashes over his shirt. He pours two glasses and says, “No problem. I have another shirt. As you know. I’ll just drop this one in water.”
And I feel shitty.
Chapter Twelve
Finn
The cold water in the sink bleeds red as soon as I drop the shirt in. I go to my wardrobe and I’ve got a bounce in my step. I know I’m not thinking straight.
And I have a nagging feeling that I’m missing something obvious. Something’s not right.
Something besides the fact that the magical sex witch mafia princess is not really going to crack and marry a guy like me. She is so many leagues out of my league,
Okay, she let me be her first, but it really doesn’t mean anything. Not to her. It would be delusional to think anything else. She said it, man.
Maybe this is all a setup. She’s going to wait by the door. Whack me with the red hot cast iron broiling pan I used for the steak. Better be careful going back in.
I slip on the shirt. Damn, she looks fine in the other one. And in my jacket.
Ding, ding.
What, this is an elaborate ruse to steal my jacket?
Come on, Finn. Even by my standards, that’s totally nuts. No. Not the jacket… the… oh, fuck.
I’m already running.
From the far side of the house, it’s easy to hear the Harley Davidson engine crack and roar into life.
I grab the car keys and I run.
By the time I get the Toyota skidding out, onto the road, I can hear the bike in the distance, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
When she told me she never rode a motorcycle, I swallowed it. Like a total idiot.
I left the keys in the bike. The beeper for the garage was in my jacket.
This little Toyota is not going to catch my Harley Sportster. Not if she has any idea how to ride it. And I’m damned sure she can ride. The way she can drive? If I thought about it for one second, I would realized.
I catch sight of her, way off in the distance. She’s already heading under the Historic Westside bridge, Flat out, the Toyota has no change of keeping up with the Harley. Not through traffic.
I just about keep her in sight past the Fremont Street Experience and into the downtown jostle, but after that, I’ve got no chance.