And I’m wandering into dangerous territory, because I also can’t remember the last time I was so drawn to a girl. If she doesn’t want me, that’s okay. But if she freaks out, if she breaks my trust, well… I may just lose it.
My faith in myself. In what I need. May just start believing I’m a freak and ask to be put behind bars, or go live in the desert.
Shaking my head at myself, I buzz her apartment and the door clicks open. I take the stairs two at a time, needing to use up some of the adrenaline pulsing in my veins, the bunch of flowers I bought her in my hand, and then I’m standing outside her door, my stomach knotting.
I unzip my jacket, straighten my white shirt, tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. The flowers sag a little, withered from the ride on my motorbike. Is it too much?
Nah. Chicks like flowers, right? And I want her to like them.
To like me.
To stop my mind from wandering deeper into the quicksand, I ring the bell and suck in a deep breath.
Then let it out in a rush when she pulls the door open, barefoot, dressed in a long black dress, her hair slicked back.
I’m staring and I can’t fucking help it.
“Whoa,” I say. “Oh man.”
She smiles at my loss of communication skills, a delighted, pretty smile. “Come on in.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I step inside, the flowers still clutched in my hand.
She looks up at me. “Are they for me?”
Shit. I thrust the bunch into her hands. “Yeah.”
A snicker escapes her. “Thank you!”
Yeah, that was really smooth. Way to go, Kaden. Bet you won the girl’s heart already.
As if I care about winning her heart.
Dammit, why did she invite me over? What does she want with me?
She is new in town. She could have chosen anyone else to spend her time with rather than a guy who’s accused of sexual deviations.
Chances are she’ll file charges against me the moment I let my guard drop and touch her, take her to bed. Maybe she won’t even wait to hear what I like, what scared Eva away. That’s the power of rumors. Of expectations.
She expects me to be a sort of monster when it comes to sex, so what am I doing here?
She takes my hand, drags me further inside and closes the door with a nudge of her hip. It’s just dinner, I remind myself. The night before she’d been drunk. Don’t expect any more kissing, or touching or sex, for that matter.
That’s why she invited you. Because she doesn’t know anyone else in town.
Right?
The table by the window is set for two with stylish black table mats and white plates. A candle in a silver holder is already lit, its flame reflecting on the glass. There’s a small Christmas tree in the corner, with twinkling lights and crystal balls.
“Wine?” she asks, and I nod, although I’m more of a beer or Scotch kinda guy. “White okay?”
“Sure.”
Shrugging off my jacket, I drape it over a chair and smooth my hands over my shirt, feeling slightly out of place. She’s a classy girl, the other night notwithstanding, and I feel like a hick, with my cheap clothes, my biker boots, my tattoos and the dirt under my fingernails that just won’t go away no matter how hard I scrub.
I’m a mechanic, and she’s an urban goddess, sleek and sophisticated, damn statuesque as she crosses the room toward the kitchen, the satiny dress hugging her curves like second skin, her hair glinting like gold.
She returns with two fluted glasses and I grip mine with awkward fingers. “I can almost hear you thinking from where I’m standing.”