Riptide Affair, page 8
Soar or crash, it won't matter. It's out there now. No taking it back now.
Jared raps the knuckles of his fist against the table before standing, smile so wide it's breathtaking. “Then I'll see you in—” he glances down at his watch. “—two hours and forty-three minutes.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jared
“After you.”
To be completely frank, I'm surprised as hell Merrin agreed to this date. I mean, I'm no Quasimodo and I'm not a dick, but seeing as how we got off to a rather unconventional start, she had reason to shoot me down.
But she didn't.
Careful not to get too handsy—just an open palm and a chaste brush of her elbow—I help her inside my lifted Jeep. It's a bit of a stretch for her since she's about a foot shorter than I am, but I play nice, even though thoughts of peeling that white polo shirt over her head and feasting on what's hidden beneath flash through my mind.
Gentleman, I remind myself. I'm a fucking gentleman.
“Sorry I smell like burgers,” she says, cringing when I round the Jeep and hop in behind the steering wheel. “I smell like Woody's all the time.”
I remember. In the elevator, it was subtle but there.
Speaking of...I have to stop thinking about the elevator, lest I make a gigantic fool of myself and prove once and for all how un-gentlemanly I can be.
“Doesn't bother me.” She smells good enough to eat, in more ways than one. “So...ice cream? Have you tried A Scoop of Summer? I hear their butter pecan can send you into a diabetic coma if you're not careful, but I figure it's worth the risk.”
“I love that place,” she beams, buckling her seat belt before pulling black strands of hair out from beneath the strap. “They do have the best butter pecan. It's the sole reason I had to take up jogging.”
Her cheeks color with a blush, and it takes all my willpower to keep my eyes trained on the road. I open my mouth to say something skeevy like, jogging's not necessary; you have a great figure, but Merrin saves me from myself.
“Do you live in Blackjack?”
“I do. My parents both retired a few years back and moved to Sarasota, so it's just me and my two brothers in the house now. All of us work in or around South Cedar but it didn't make sense for us to pay the jacked-up rent in the city so we stayed. It works for us. Well, most days, at least.”
“Ah, that must be why I've never seen you guys. Too busy dining with city folks.”
There's no way in hell I'm about to tell her the real reason I avoid Woody's like the plague, so instead I glance away from the road to look at her, just for a second. “I might have to change my eating habits now that I know there's a five-star eatery in town.”
She snorts out a laugh. “I call bullshit on that one.”
Its not a long drive to the ice cream shop, so we're parking before she has a chance to say another word, and I jump out and make my way to her door to help her out. When her feet hit the ground, I look down, instantly turned on by the obvious height difference for reasons I can't explain and don't really care to.
“Are you always this chivalrous?” she asks, but I detect a hint of sarcasm.
“I try to be.”
Lacing my fingers with hers, I pull us both across the parking lot, trying not to fist bump the air in excitement like an absolute lunatic when she doesn't pull away. How long has it been since I've held hands with a woman? A year? Two years? Too damn long?
Yup. That one.
“This isn't weirding you out, is it?” I ask, holding the door open with one arm while she glides through.
“Depends. What 'this' are you referring to?”
I squeeze her fingers. “This this.”
She giggles, a light and airy sound that does weird things to my lungs. “We fooled around in an elevator and you're wondering if holding your hand makes me uncomfortable?” She shakes her head, biting back a smile. “That's sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet.”
She thinks I'm sweet.
Progress.
We settle into a corner booth covered in cracked and faded vinyl; her on one side, me on the other, and I do my best to keep my wits about me. It's not helping matters, however, that she's openly referencing what we did when I was prepared to sweep things under the rug and start over. Other than the obvious reason of getting to spend time with Merrin, that was the whole reason I asked her out in the first place.
A redo.
Take two.
Well, take three, actually.
It's my chance to prove to her that I'm more than a mistake made in the heat of the moment. But that heat keeps filtering back in when I least expect it, riding on the backs of images too sinfully sexy for an ice cream shop. I have to mentally pump the brakes, or else my mind is going to wander into dangerous territory.
“Why don't we play a little game?” I lean across the table and she does the same, meeting me in the middle with a playful smirk. “For the remainder of our date, lets pretend this is the first time we've met. You're just some pretty girl I picked up at a restaurant.” I nudge her foot with mine under the table. “For tonight, let's pretend the elevator never happened.”
Her mouth falls open, and a second later she rears back in her seat. “Wow, was it really that bad? You just want to forget it?” She laughs, and I know it's meant to put me at ease, to convey she's joking, but something tells me this playful lie is buried in painful truth. Most guys would throw out a self-depreciating comment and saunter on, but not me. I want her to know exactly how deeply I felt our connection.
“Trust me, Merrin, you left an impression. One that multiple cold showers couldn't even begin to touch.”
Her eyes widen. I've never been one to beat around the bush and I'm not about to start now. Might as well throw all my cards on the table. “But I'd prefer it if, just for tonight, we could pretend it never happened. That I wasn't wearing my work uniform the first time I kissed you, and you weren't terrified when you first reached for me.”
Slowly, she considers what I've said, and then she nods. “I can do that.”
“Good.” I clear my throat and proceed to move us to safer ground. “So, what's your poison? Butter pecan? Chunky monkey? Or are we taming it down and sticking to strictly vanilla?”
She taps a finger to her chin, scanning the large menu up front. “I think I'll go with...rocky road.”
“As you wish.” I tap a clenched fist to the edge of the table before hopping up and all but sprinting to the counter. It's taking an insane amount of restraint to behave, which is preposterous. I was the one pumping the brakes in the elevator, fearing that she was making a mistake she'd regret forever, and yet now that we're out in public on a date at the most innocent place I could pick out, all I want to do is drag her over the table, smear ice cream up and down her bare torso, and go to town.
That's the image running rampant through my head as Marvin, the owner and head hauncho, hands over two cones loaded down with sugary goodness.
“Thanks, Marv.”
He eyes my date, then winks. “Go get 'em, tiger.”
Back at the table, Merrin takes her cone and nods to the front counter. “He's such a sweetheart.”
“And a genuinely good guy,” I add. “Did you know he opened this ice cream parlor to honor his late wife?”
“I didn't.”
“Yeah, his wife, Summer, was amazing. Growing up, I remember she always had chocolates and hard candy in her purse to share with the neighbor kids and she never let any of us skip out on her without stealing a hug first. Marvin loved her so much. It was painful to watch, honestly.”
Her eyes become thoughtful as she gazes up at the front where Marvin is refilling the front cooler with ice. “I can see it,” she says. “He seems like a romantic at heart.”
Strawberry cheesecake ice cream begins dribbling over my hand and I lap at the sweet liquid, keeping my eyes on Merrin the whole time. I don't want to talk about lost loves. I want to explore new ones.
When she whips her eyes back around to me, she catches me staring but doesn't call me on it. “Okay, so, I suck at small talk. Ask me a question. I'll answer, then ask you one. We can keep volleying back and forth until we don't feel like strangers anymore and this first date awkwardness is gone.”
She doesn't feel like a stranger, and I can't detect even a hint of awkwardness, at least not on my part, but I go with it.
“You want to play twenty questions?”
She shrugs. “Doesn't have to be twenty.”
No. It doesn't. But that's the game.
I don't say that aloud even though I want to. Twenty questions isn't a harmless party game. It's an interrogation masquerading as a game. It's inviting another person to learn all about the things you wouldn't bring up in everyday conversation—the things you don't volunteer about yourself for good reason.
“Okay. I'll go first.” I sit back and search for the most innocent, playful question I can muster. “How would you assemble the perfect burrito?”
“Hmm...let's see.” She pulls her shoulders back and my eyes automatically drop to her chest. “Hamburger, beans, cheese, lettuce, diced tomatoes, cheese, mushrooms, sour cream, cheese, black olives, corn chips, cheese and...cheese. Also, cheese.”
A broad smile stretches across my cheeks. “Cheese, huh?”
“Yes. And cheese. Did I mention I like cheese?”
“You did,” I chuckle. “But you neglected to specify what breed.”
“What breed?” She barks out a laugh and covers her mouth, presumably to keep from coughing chocolate chunks in my face. When she finally answers, she's all business. “A mutt. Pepperjack, mozzarella, and cheddar, all melted together.”
“Mozzarella.” I make a show of closing my eyes and pressing a hand to my heart. “You just sealed the deal, sweetheart. I have all I need to know.”
A few nearby patrons glance our way as we howl with laughter, but I couldn't care less. They can look away and tune us out. I'm too busy enjoying myself to mute my enthusiasm.
“Okay, your turn.”
She already has a question at the ready. “You just won a million bucks. What do you do?”
“Buy a theme park.” Zero hesitation. “What's in your fridge right now?”
Another food question. I'm fooling no one.
“Uh, let's see...I've got a Tupperware container of leftover spaghetti, bread, eggs, lunch meat, two blocks of cheese, and probably at least fifty condiments. Do you believe in aliens?”
Okay, this is fun. Way more fun than any first date I've ever been on.
“Yes. Absolutely. There's no way we're the only intelligent life out there.” My next question is a little heavier. “Do you believe in God?”
“I do,” she says, nodding her head from side to side, “but not in the way other people do. I believe there's a creator out there, but he's not some big omnipotent daddy figure in the sky. I think he—or she—is buried in the details. Wound throughout anything and everything that exists. But,” she raises a hand, “just so you know, I put very little stock in the Bible.”
I nod, just once, not pushing for further explanation. Her beliefs line up close to my own.
“Cats or dogs?” she asks.
“Dogs. Always dogs.”
She points her cone at my face. “Good answer.”
“Black or green olives?” I fire back.
“One might say that all olives matter, Jared.”
It takes me a second to catch onto her double meaning, but when I do, I'm a little stunned. She's fiercely intelligent. Far wittier than I am, but it's subtle. Reserved.
“One might also say that with an answer like that, you're missing the entire point.”
She nods. “Indeed. Now, a more important question...coffee or tea?”
“Pfft, coffee.” That's a no brainer. “Biggest fear?”
“Water.”
I open my mouth to make a joke, but stop myself just in time.
It makes sense. After everything she endured—everything she's lost—a phobia of water is a given. But I keep my thoughts on the matter to myself. She doesn't need to be reminded of that day, and I don't want to give her a reason to make her realize we've met before. Before the elevator. Thirteen years ago. On her first hellacious day at Blackjack High School.
“Uh, let's see...favorite holiday?”
“Halloween,” she says. “Like there's any other acceptable answer.”
“Right!” I exclaim.
Dammit. This is as easy as breathing. So easy, so freeing, so right. The date's not even over yet and I already know I'll be lying awake for hours tonight thinking about her.
“Do you sing in the shower?”
The question escapes my mouth before I have the good sense to suppress it. Now she's blushing and I'm thinking about what she'd look like naked, her long black hair soaked and shining, sticking to the curve of her back.
Fucking grand.
“Are you picturing me in the shower?” Her head falls to the side, and even though she's blushing again, the confidence in her eyes is unmistakable.
“You can't ask a question until you answer one. Those are the rules.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Yes, I sing in the shower.” I'm preparing to answer her next question with a resounding yes! I was picturing her naked, covered in nothing but suds, but that's not what she comes back with. “Do you take the little shampoos and conditioners from hotels?”
Finishing my ice cream, I grab a napkin and wipe my hands. “Well, yeah. You never know when you might run out of product and a milliliter of shampoo can make all the difference.”
Her laugh is the best. Infectious. Uplifting. If I could record it to my phone and set it as my default ringtone, I would, but that'd be creepy as hell.
I'm no psychic, but by the time we wipe up all the ice cream droplets that made their way onto the table during our little game, there's not a doubt in my mind that a second date is in our future.
There has to be. No way am I giving up on...whatever this is.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Merrin
“This is me.”
I point to Mimi sitting in the parking lot. Cast within the glow of Woody's lone street lamp, she doesn't look half bad, but next to Jared's Jeep, she resembles a poorly-loved Hot Wheels from the eighties.
Jared kills the engine and, for the first time all night, my anxiety makes an unwelcome appearance. I'm no pro when it comes to dating, and I'm terrified of making an ass of myself, but Jared makes it easy. He's all smiles and loaded glances as he opens the door for me and helps me out.
“I'm glad you decided to come out with me,” he says, leaning one hip against my decrepit car. I'm scared he'll fall through a rust spot so I lean against his Jeep, prompting him to do the same so we're not so far apart.
“I had a really nice time,” I say. That's the most cliché thing I've ever said, but it's true.
“Any chance you'd be up for a repeat?”
I'm nodding before he ever has a chance to finish the question. I'm not playing it cool in the slightest, but I somehow manage to downplay the HELL YES! poised on my tongue, so kudos to me for that.
“Good.” His wide smile matches mine as he leans in close and my chin tilts on its own accord. When our gazes lock, I see his intent.
He descends on me until our lips meet and there's nothing—repeat, nothing—gentle about the way he kisses me. Strong hands dive into my hair and I moan, too stunned by the heat sparking between our bodies to care about the involuntary noise. Thousands of tiny flames lick across my skin, igniting me, bringing me to life in the best way possible, and it is fucking exquisite.
Our bodies mold together, hands searching everything within reach. I literally sway from the intensity of our connection as I part my lips and his tongue slides in to greet mine.
I forget where I am. I forget who I am. My nails rake down the hard ridges of his back and Jared growls into my mouth, pulling me even closer. Firm hands grip my ass and squeeze, making me gasp. He tastes like sugar and cinnamon and home.
The hard ridge of his erection grinds into my hip, surprising me, and I thrust against him.
More.
I want more.
We're not just dancing in the heat of the moment—we're playing with fire.
“Merrin...”
His voice is rough, like gravel crunching beneath tires, but I don't have time to appreciate it because he untangles himself and steps away.
Just. Like. That.
Both desperate for air and foggy with lust, we stare at one another. His blue eyes are begging for more, and I'm sure I look like some kind of predator ready to take down my prey, but neither of us advance.
Be smart, Merrin.
Play it safe.
There's plenty of time for that.
I hate rationality sometimes.
“Well.” Jared shakes his head, looking just as dazed as I feel. “That was fun.”
“Yeah. It was.”
“I should probably say goodnight.” The sultry curve of his lips tells me that's the last thing he wants to do.
“Probably.”
Hands cradle my face, softly this time, and Jared presses another kiss to my lips. It's chaste, but infinitely more romantic than the last. “Goodnight, Merrin.”
“Goodnight, Jared,” I whisper.
“AWWWW!”
Jared and I whirl around, practically jumping out of our skins, only to find we have an audience. Three waitresses and one lone dishwasher stare at us from the back porch of Woody's, chins propped in their hands.
“Oh shit.” Jared laughs, sliding a nervous hand around the back of his neck. “Glad they saw that kiss and not the one before.”
“We saw that one too!” Laura calls, pointing to the security camera mounted to the corner of the building.
I'm going to hurt someone.
“Sorry,” I cringe, looking up into his eyes. “My friends have no concept of boundaries. Like, any boundaries, ever.”
“It's fine.” The tone of his voice tells me it really is. He's not put off by them in the slightest...just a little flustered at getting caught. “They're just looking out for you. I can appreciate that.”
