I’m just about to ask her what her dad does when our food arrives. “Mmm, that smells good,” she says, pointedly looking at my food.
I hold my plate out to her. “Here, I got double fries so I could share.”
She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t.”
“Are you sure? I won’t eat them all.”
She picks up her fork and pierces a piece of lettuce. “No, I’m good.” She takes a bite and chews. “Plus, I’m holding out for that piece of cake.”
6
Lakelyn
I have three bites of the cake instead of one, and each one is better than the last. When I’m finished, I’m holding my stomach I’m so full. “That should come with a warning label. It was so good.”
“Yeah, Violet’s well known for her cake.”
I lean forward. “So I need to work off some of this food. Is there a dance club or something here?”
He smirks. “In Whiskey Run? No, there’s quite a few in Jasper but not here.”
“A bar that plays music? Anything?”
He reaches for his wallet, and I reach for my purse. “I’m buying dinner,” he says rather gruffly. I don’t argue with him, and he lays the money on the table. “Well, there’s a bar... it’s called The Whiskey Whistler, but you can’t go there by yourself.”
I should be offended that he obviously thinks I can’t take care of myself, but I’m not. Goosebumps shoot up my arm at his possessive tone. “Well, I thought you’d go with me.”
I wait for him to tell me no, but he surprises me. “Okay... on one condition... make that two.”
I shrug. “Anything.” And I mean what I say; I would literally agree to anything with him right now.
“You don’t leave my side, and you only dance with me.”
I cross my arms over my chest as if weighing my options. “Are you a good dancer?”
He shakes his head instantly. “Not at all. Two left feet actually, but those are the conditions.”
I lift my head defiantly. “You know I could just go by myself.”
He takes a deep breath and slowly releases it. “Yeah, you could... and it’s probably crazy for me to admit this, but I’d probably just follow you anyway. So do you agree?”
I want to laugh and make light of it because I can tell he’s troubled and doesn’t want to feel anything toward me. He’s fighting it, and I don’t exactly know why. “Sure, I agree.” Like it’s no big deal when in fact it is. He’s pretty much claiming me and doesn’t even realize it.
“You ready?” I ask him.
He nods and stands up, waiting for me to slide out of the booth. We walk out, me in front of him, and I do my best to ignore the people staring at us.
“So do we walk there? Or...”
“We’ll pick up my car from the shop and I’ll drive us there. It’s only around ten minutes away.”
Once we’re at the shop, he leads me around to the side of the building, and I freeze in my tracks.
“Stop!” I holler.
He does, too. Instantly, as if on high alert, he moves closer to me and starts to look around. Only when he sees me staring at his car with my mouth hanging open does he seem to loosen up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Are you kidding me right now? You drive a 1967 Chevy Impala? That’s your car?”
He shrugs, but I can see his chest bow out proudly. “Yeah. How do you know about cars?”
“My dad.” I walk all around it, naming off all the improvements he’s had made on top of all the refinishing touches he’s made to the factory body. I lean in and look through the window. “You still have the 8 track player.” I’m stomping my feet I’m so excited.
I open the door and slide into the passenger seat. “Okay, I’m ready, but can you go fast? I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these. Show me what the V8 motor in this thing can do.”
He’s staring at me slack-jawed, no doubt surprised by everything I know about cars. He gets in and turns sideways to look at me. I look up his big barrel of a chest, his wide shoulders and the heated look in his eyes. I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking because all I can think about is how weird it would be if I asked him to have sex with me in his car.
“What?” I ask him because I can see the question in his eyes.
“What are you thinking about?”
I laugh, I have to. It’s either that or I’m going to confess every sinful thought I’m having right now. “I’m thinking you want me to drive.”
He shrugs his shoulders and opens his door. I squeal and grab his arm. “Really?”
He laughs. “Obviously you like my car. I trust you.”
I clap my hands together and slide over into the driver’s seat as he walks around. He gets in and shuts the door. I run my hands up and down the steering wheel. I can’t stop smiling. “Thank you for this, Tate.”