“Agitated? Tense?” He lifted his hands in the air. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Cool it.”
“Fine.” Sam exhaled deeply. “You’re right. I’m terrible company. And yeah, I have a few good reasons to be out of sorts, but none of them are your fault. Except the coffee reason.”
“It’s not my fault that you didn’t wake up on time. Nor is it my fault that you didn’t preset your coffeemaker. You are in charge of your own caffeination. Not me.”
“All right, all right. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted. Now, please…just close your eyes and sleep or something. I really don’t want your irascible disposition to endanger my holiday spirit.” I growled when he chuckled in response. “What is so funny?”
“You. I guess the rumors about redheads are true after all.”
“My hair is more of a chestnut color, heavy on the brown side.”
“I know what color it is,” he replied in a huskier than normal tone.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and cast a wary look at him.
Bad idea.
Too many fleeting glimpses in a row were dangerous. Not only had we reset our boundaries and agreed to be friends-slash-short-term-neighbors, but Sam was so very far out of my league, he might as well be from another planet. The garage incident wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t attracted to me on some level. But a casual, meaningless fling wasn’t my style. I couldn’t allow myself to succumb to his charms…or worse, attempt flirtation. Mainly because I was a terrible flirt.
I was bound to say something embarrassing like—
“Is that a drapes and carpet metaphorical commentary?”
Sam barked a laugh. “Drapes and carpet! Ha! You mean the hair on your head and your…”
“Pubic hair,” I confirmed weakly, fixing my gaze on the barren stretch of the 14 Freeway.
“Christ. You’re priceless,” he hooted merrily. “No. Keep your mind out of the gutter, science guy. I was referring to your hot temper, not your ball dusters.”
Heat crept up my neck and spread across my face. I’d bet big bucks I was as red as a bowlful of cherries.
“My ball dusters?”
“What? You’ve never heard of that saying?” His playfully lecherous tone encouraged me to relax and laugh along.
“Never.” I snorted.
“Hmm. Maybe I made that up.”
“You certainly did. And you’ve seen my…”
“Ball dusters,” he supplied. “I have indeed. I wasn’t going to bring that up, though. I can be a gentleman, you know.”
He twisted to rescue the first aid kit, popped a couple of Advil, and washed them down with the dregs of the coffee we’d stopped for in Santa Clarita.
I changed lanes again. “Hmph.”
“Hey, just for kicks, how about if you choose a lane and stay in it or better yet, let me drive?”
“No, but I have another idea.” I fiddled with the radio, settling on the only station with a clear signal.
“Whoa. Wait up. We agreed…no holiday music.”
“Not a chance.” I turned up the volume and sang along, “Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock…”
I thought he’d grumble, but he surprised me by humming along, tapping his right thumb on his knee. “I kinda like this one.”
“Me too. What’s your favorite Christmas carol?”
“I do not have a favorite carol.”
“Everyone has one they like better than others,” I persisted.
“Okay, fine. Frosty is cool. And I like David Bowie’s ‘Little Drummer Boy.’ ”
“Good choices.”
“How about you? Don’t tell me…you love them all.”
“Heck, yes,” I enthused. “I start listening to holiday music November first. I allow myself a song a day until the fifteenth. At which point, rules no longer apply.”
“You sound like Jase. The guy lives for any excuse to play Mariah Carey at top volume.”
My ears perked at the mention of his ex.
“What’s he like?” I inquired, unthinking.
“Well…” He hesitated for long enough that I was sure I’d accidentally broached a touchy subject.
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked. That was nosy and—”
“No, no. I don’t mind talking about him. It’s just that Jase is more of an experience than someone easily described.”
“How so?”
“He’s flamboyant and funny, and he takes no prisoners. Nothing gets by Jase, and no one better fuck with him or anyone he loves.” Sam chuckled fondly. “He owns a hair salon in West Hollywood. Stylin’ Tea. He hired three of his closest friends to cut hair, serve tea, and share gossip.”
“Oh, that’s interesting.”
“Yeah, they’ve become a bit of a sensation with the podcast they started last year, too. I’m not sure what they’re talking about half the time,” he snorted. “Weird world we live in, huh? Whatever. I’m proud of him. He’s ultra fabulous, but he’s a great dad, a good friend, and like you, he loves the holidays.”
The rogue wave of jealousy hit me hard. It was a good thing I had to concentrate on the road. Other than an appreciation for the holidays, I couldn’t relate to Lincoln’s other dad. I wasn’t fabulous at all.
“He sounds…special,” I replied after a moment.