I find my voice and clear my throat. “Hi.”
Her smile is radiant, burning straight into my soul. “Hi.”
“Alice in Chains?” I nod my head at her hoodie.
“They’re a great band.”
“I think it’s cute.” I laugh and hold out my hand for her to take. “Your love for 90s grunge bands.
“And your hoodie?” The amusement in her voice has me chuckling.
“What?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“NASA. Really?”
“With a name like Mars…” I trail off. “Did you really expect anything less?”
She giggles and I swear it’s the sweetest sound on Earth. I help her into the passenger side of the truck before climbing in on my side. When I fire up my engine, it probably scares the whole damn neighborhood, but I don’t care. As long as she keeps staring at me like I’m her favorite star in the sky.
I let her fiddle with the radio while we drive. She tells me a little about her classes and asks about my job at Jimmy’s. Our conversation is easier, and less tense than the other day. She keeps sneaking glances at me.
“Okay, so since I screwed up our last date, I’m going to just go with what feels right this time,” I tell her with a smirk. “I hope you like milkshakes. If you don’t, this is over before it even began.”
She laughs. “Strawberry. I love burgers too.”
“A girl after my own heart,” I say as I pull into Sonic.
Apprehension leaves my system when I look over to see her smiling. So fucking happy. With me. Sage doesn’t need to go to some expensive restaurant. She just needs me to show her a good time. I can definitely do that.
“What do you want?” I ask, once I pull into one of the bays.
She unbuckles and slides across the bench seat to take a closer look. With her thigh up against mine, and leaning over me to look at the menu board, I can’t help but inhale her sweet scent.
“Cheeseburger—no onions—strawberry shake, and tater tots.” She looks up at me, her face just inches from mine. “What about you?”
“Same.”
She snorts. “You don’t want the same.”
“I swear, I do,” I say with a laugh.
Her brow lifts as she regards me. “Seriously?”
My eyes drop to her plump, pink lips. “You made it sound good.”
Heat floods her cheeks making them burn crimson. Tonight, her hair is down, hiding her cute telltale ears from me. It makes me want to tuck her hair behind them so I can see them. Instead of getting handsy on her, I place our order. Once I’ve paid, she starts to scoot back over, but I rest my hand on her jean-clad thigh.
“I like you right here.” My voice is husky. “But put your belt back on.”
She nods and then fastens her seat belt. For one moment, we sit in an almost uncomfortable silence.
“You’re so intense,” she says, biting on her bottom lip as she looks at me beneath her dark lashes.
I wince at her words. “I don’t mean to be. I just…” Really like you. I really don’t want you to slip from my grasp.
“I like it,” she breathes. “It reminds me of how I get when I paint. All my frustrations melt away and I give in to this overwhelming intensity to create. I get that vibe from you, and I don’t know, I just like it.”
Her head dips and her almost dark hair hides her pretty face from me. I do what I’ve craved to do and tuck the hair behind one ear. My thumb lingers on the shell of her ear and the flesh grows warm to the touch, as it burns red.
“I love your ears,” I murmur. God, sometimes I sound like an obsessive freak. “I mean, I like them a lot.”
She tilts her head to look back up at me. The corners of her mouth tug into a smile. “I like the little scar on your chin.”
I absently rub the spot. “You wouldn’t like how I got it.” My brows furl together as I think about that day. A shudder ripples through me.
“Hey,” she says softly, reaching up to brush her fingertip along the groove of my scar. “Will you tell me how you got it?”
I close my eyes and rub at the back of my neck. “It’s not a pretty story to tell.”
“I can handle not-so-pretty stories. I can handle all your stories. I want to hear them,” she urges. “I’ll tell you mine.”
When I reopen my eyes, she’s staring at me with an unguarded expression. Her green eyes shimmer with sadness and loneliness. I want to chase the look away and fill her with more of what makes her eyes gleam with happiness.
“My dad,” I say softly. “He, uh, he’s…”
She waits patiently.
I rip off the proverbial Band-Aid. “He’s a mean drunk.”
Her hand finds mine and she squeezes it. “I’m sorry, Mars.”