“It’s the only competitive vehicle I’m allowed to drive these days.”
Regan turned in a full circle, a delightful, cute-as-hell grin on her face. She undid her wool coat and reached for her sneakers. “I should tell you that in my other life, I drive a go-cart like a boss.”
Christ, he loved this side of her. “I believe it.” Wyatt tossed his jacket and waited. She was bent over, tying up her sneakers, and, man, the view was heaven. Regan straightened slowly, as if knowing exactly where his eyes were.
“Okay, Blackwell. You’ve got one shot to impress the hell out of me. Grab me a drink, and let’s do this.”
She didn’t wait for him but marched straight toward the bumper cars, leaving him standing like an idiot with his mouth hanging open, caveman knuckles pretty much dragging the floor, and a burgeoning hard-on that was going to be a son of a bitch to control.
Excitement thrummed through him, leaving him short of breath. But it was enough to get his ass moving, and just as the clock struck half-past six, Wyatt’s date night with Regan kicked into high gear.
Chapter 10
Regan had shared a lot of things with Wyatt on the drive into the city, and that surprised her. The ease she felt in his company wasn’t something she’d expected. Seriously. The guy must have some super-duper magic mojo hidden in his pocket or something, because she’d never told a soul about how she’d won first place in the 100-meter dash back in fifth grade. Not. A. Soul.
Not even Carly. And her best friend knew pretty much everything there was to know about her. All her deep dark secrets.
Like the fact she’d failed her driver’s test three times. It still smarted to think about that particular humiliation. Because she did drive a go-cart like a boss.
She settled into her bright orange bumper car and placed her hands on the steering wheel. These were fancy machines, not like the ones she remembered from her childhood. They were plush, outfitted in leather, and turned on a dime. Rather, spun with the slightest bit of pressure.
Wyatt hopped into the only other one on the floor, a black-and-purple unit. “There’s a cold beer on the table over there. You want to have a drink first?”
Regan’s answer? She slammed her foot on the pedal and flew at him. He didn’t have a chance to react, and she sent him spinning in the opposite direction, cursing all the way as he struggled to get control of his machine. Oh yeah. This was going to be one hell of an adventure.
“Okay. That was the most fun I’ve had in…” Regan flopped back onto her seat, more relaxed than she’d been in ages. “In I don’t know how long.” She took a sip from her beer and glanced over the rim of her glass. “Years maybe.”
They’d banged around in the bumper cars for well over an hour. It might have been two for all Regan knew. Not once had she glanced at her phone to check the time or messages—she’d been too busy ramming into Wyatt as often as she could. And she’d rammed him a lot, though she’d taken her fair share of hits in return.
She felt like a kid again. The kid she’d been before high school and peer pressure made her life crazy.
And now? A slow burn slithered along her skin as she pushed her plate away. Now she was ready for something else.
“My burger was amazing,” she said softly. After their round of bumper cars, he’d led the way to the kitchen, where she sat and watched him prepare made-to-order burgers (she wanted peppers and guacamole, he preferred cheddar and tomato), onion rings, and homemade french fries. Not exactly the healthiest of meals, but hey, one was allowed to cheat every now and again.
“I don’t want to sound arrogant or anything, but my culinary skills are legendary.” Wyatt paused, his dark eyes causing all sorts of zigs and zags to explode inside her. “Among other things.”
“Huh,” she said. “I find it hard to believe there’s more of you that can get to the kind of level your cooking does.”
He smiled at that. A slow, sexy lift to a mouth that was, without a doubt, somewhere in the aforementioned legendary category.
“Do you want me to list them?” Wyatt asked.
“Do we have time?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.
All serious like, Wyatt glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Probably not.”
She laughed at that. “Oh, come on. Share a few.”
“I’m not sure if you’re ready for that kind of conversation.” He was enjoying himself. She could see that. And holy hell, Wyatt Blackwell in this state was something to see. He’d worn a plain black button-down shirt, black jeans, and boots. His hair was longer than he normally wore it and had that messy just-got-out-of-bed look. His chin sported at least a days’ worth of whiskers, and his dimples deepened as she gazed at him. For a few quiet moments, she drank him in, and that was enough.
“I promise you I am.” Her words were husky, and she hoped like hell he hadn’t heard the tremble she felt in her bones. She couldn’t remember ever being this aware of a man.
And she didn’t even like him.
Regan smiled at the thought. Sometimes she was an idiot.
“What?” he asked, leaning toward her.