Chapter 11
Sage
Jasher drove his truck. She’d left her car at his apartment. Driving over there as an I’m your date “reveal” like a reality TV show had been awkward, to put it mildly.
Inchy. Ugh.
And the sluice. Of all places! Worse, Sage had sported a dress fancy enough it looked as if she was ready to go to a spring formal instead of anywhere as an adult in the summer in Mendon. How old was she, seventeen again, gussying up like this for a date?
Jasher hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact … wow. Had he been ready to kiss her? Sure felt like it. Her glance slid to him in the driver’s seat, confident, irresistible with that dark hair and strategically groomed stubble designed to drive her wild.
She should not let him. This was their first date, after all.
But I’ve already kissed him—a long time ago. So, what’s the big deal?
Yeah, what was?
Well, she couldn’t really answer that, but something inside told her to hold off—something besides the dread of the curse. Still, she ached for that kiss.
“I’ll only be two seconds.” She reached for the door handle of his truck so she could race inside her apartment and change out of these prom duds. “Promise.”
“Nuh-uh.” He reached his arm across her middle and grabbed the door handle to stop her. “This is a date. I’m getting your door.” They paused a moment, their eyes meeting. Could he detect her heart rate, as it tripled?
Finally, he pulled away, came around, and opened the door. He extended a hand to lift her out. “You never know where Inchy’s spies might be. They’ll want me to be the gentleman.”
Of course. This whole spies and cameras on her five dates was a problem. She still had to get him to fall in love with Mendon again, and tag-along auxiliary ladies threatened to make her job twice as hard.
It wasn’t just about needing privacy to kiss him. No.
“What does one wear to the sluice?” She paused on the top step of her porch and turned around. A step behind her, his forward momentum brought his face up to within millimeters of hers. “Oh! Sorry,” she blurted, reaching for the porch rail to steady herself on these platform sandals.
A slow, devious grin spread over his mouth. He wasn’t sorry. Not one bit. “If times haven’t changed, shorts and a t-shirt over a swimsuit are the standard uniform. And old shoes you don’t mind ruining. Got any of those?”
Somewhere, she was sure.
She came back in cut-off jeans from the depths of her drawer and a concert t-shirt featuring Girl Crazy.
“Nice band. Throwback Thursday. But on a Saturday.” He pointed at her shirt. “I didn’t peg you for a Hudson Oaks fan.”
“I didn’t peg you for someone who’d know the name of a boy band’s lead singer.”
“Touché.” He took her hand. “You look perfect for the sluice now, by the way.” A tendril of heat laced his words.
Or maybe she just wished so.
No. She had a job to do—and she could not let her body chemistry distract her from it. No matter how susceptible she was to that firm-looking dip in the center of his upper lip.
“I have towels and lunch in the back of the truck.” He took her by the hand, sending sparkles all through her, and led her back outside.
Five minutes later, they were at the ravine of Route 23, parking beneath the broad, metal half-pipe that extended a quarter of a mile, carrying a zillion gallons of brownish-green irrigation water over the road.
This sluice. Right. “I’ve never been in it.”
“Never?” Jasher dropped her hand as he put the truck in park. “Didn’t you grow up here?”
“Yeah, but aren’t there signs saying it’s illegal?”
“They’re only there for liability. Police officers used to take their families down it, and they probably still do. It’s a Mendon tradition. Don’t tell me you’ve missed out.”