Crazy Imperfect Love (Dirty Dicks 2.50)

After our kiss, Drake and I spent the next three hours sledding down four different hills, each one bigger than the last. I wiped out more times than I can count, got snow in places a girl shouldn’t have snow, and had so much fun.

“I had a good time today,” he responds.

“Me too.” I smile over the rim of my mug.

“I would say we can do it again tomorrow, but I have to work.”

I sigh. “I have to work tomorrow too. But maybe this weekend if the snow hangs around?”

“It’s a date.”

A date. Is that what today was? Am I breaking a company rule by dating Drake? My grip on the mug tightens, the hot cocoa curdling in the pit of my stomach.

“Abigail, breathe.”

I suck in a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and look at Drake. The need to ease my anxiety is growing by the second, and I’m afraid if I don’t find a way to tamp it down, it’s going to escalate, and I’ll end up making an ass out of myself.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“Really? Because you don’t look so good.”

I sit up on the couch and swallow. “My stomach is just unsettled, that’s all.”

“Is this because I said it’s a date?”

“What? No.” I shake my head a little too dramatically, but I can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t buying it. “Okay, yes. Maybe a little.”

He lif

ts a brow. “A little.”

“Okay, a lot.”

“Does the thought of us going on a date make you nervous? Because I considered today a date, and also the other night when I took you to Abby’s.”

“That was not a date.”

“How do you figure?” His laughter lightens the mood, and I feel the knot in my stomach start to loosen. “I picked you up, drove you to a restaurant, bought you dinner and dessert, and walked you to your door. If that isn’t a date, I don’t know what is.”

I grin. “You didn’t kiss me at the end of the night.”

“Trust me, I won’t make that mistake again.”

The promise of another kiss has my stomach tightening for a completely different reason. “It scares me.”

“The kiss?”

“No,” I laugh. “Us dating.”

“You don’t want to date. Do I stink?” he asks, lifting his arm and sniffing his shirt.

“Stop.” I shove him playfully. “You don’t stink.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s against the rules. We’re not supposed to date.”