“What’s good here?” Haelee asks as she peruses the card, the list of items I’m not interested in because I know what I’m having. She looks up at me when I don’t respond, and I smile.
“Bacon cheeseburger with pickles and fries,” I tell her. “That’s what we’re having.”
The corner of her mouth tilts, her gaze narrowing on me. “What if I don’t like burgers?”
“Everyone likes burgers,” I counter. “Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy fries either, because that has to be a lie.”
This time, she smiles, shaking her head. “You’re so overbearing. Yes, I do love fries. I can eat them all day, every day,” she admits. “Are you sure I’m going to like the burger?”
“Best burger on the West Coast,” I reply because I know it’s the truth. “And once we’re done with lunch, we’re having ice cream. Chocolate with mint chips inside.”
She scrunches her nose as if the idea of mint and chocolate repulses her, but I’ll show her just how delicious it is. “I don’t know about that. Perhaps just plain chocolate will do.”
“Take a chance.” My words have a double meaning. I want her to let her guard down. I’ve only seen hints of the girl underneath, but most times, she hides behind her sass. I want to see the broken girl because I want to mend her. I want to heal her pain with affection and show her she’s worth so much more than I can offer.
“I have,” she admits. “I’m sitting here. Aren’t I?”
The server brings our drinks, and I place the order for our burgers, so I don’t answer her just yet, but the moment we’re alone, I lean forward, my hands up and open, wanting hers. She slips her delicate fingers over my palms, which sends shockwaves of heat coursing through my veins. My body is alert, the desire from our kiss still lingering, still burning.
“Then don’t be scared to trust me,” I implore her. Even though I’ve never done this before, and even though I’m afraid I’m bad for her, I can’t leave. More importantly, I don’t want to walk away.
“It takes time,” she says finally. “Give me some time. This is so new to me. I didn’t think I’d be dating a racer. Let alone one that left a bad first impression.” A small smile graces her lips when she says this, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes and the reminder of my asshole ways. But then she continues, “Relationships still scare the crap out of me.”
“Well, they scare the crap out of me too.” I hope she can see the honesty in my eyes because it’s the only way I know she’ll open up. “But I’m here, and I want this to work.”
“Then it will work,” she says. “Just don’t do anything, assholey.”
I can’t help but laugh out loud. “Assholey?” This time, my brow arches in question, along with the word she just made up.
Her cheeks deepen their usual pink, and she smiles. “Yeah, it’s a new word I made up. Don’t overuse it.” The air between us lifts from the serious conversation to a safer topic when she says, “What was the first car you ever drove?”
Talking about cars is something I can do all day every day. “Well, my dad taught me to drive in his old Beemer, an M3 he had since I could remember. But when he finally made it big, and his company started raking in money, he went out and bought himself an Aston Martin Vanquish in gunmetal gray, and not long after, a black Maserati pulled up to the estate.”
“You’re like super-rich,” Haelee remarks, and I nod. I hate talking about my father’s money, but the cars were always a highlight.
“My father was rich. I’m just the son who inherited his father’s fortune,” I state easily. I never saw my father’s fortune as my own. Granted, I didn’t want for anything when I was growing up, but it was more him helping me rather than me parading around like the rich kid.
“What was your first car of your own?”
This makes me smile because I recall the moment I saw it. Nothing could have ever topped the emotion I felt when my dad handed me the keys. I was sixteen. Still couldn’t drive it on the roads without him present, but the power of the rumbling engine was enough to solidify my choice of career.
“When I turned sixteen, my dad bought me a red Ford Mustang. It was an older car, but at the time, it was sought after. There were only a few kids in my school who had one, so it was almost as if I had a special edition.” I pick up my drink and take a long sip, the bubbles trickling down my throat.
“Do you still have it?” Haelee asks before wrapping her lips around the straw and slowly sucking down her orange juice. The action does nothing to calm my need for her, and I have to look away and not focus on the hardness against my zipper.