I grin. “Honestly? It just goes so fucking fast when you put the pedal down.”
Her eyes dart to the inside of the car and then back to me. “So it’s a toy.”
“Totally.”
She nods. Her tongue moves across her lip, bringing my attention to her mouth. “You saidfucking.”
“I said I wouldn’t in front of Jett, and I keep my word.” She lowers, ducking to sit in the seat. Before I close the door, I add, “but tonight, Jett’s with Nancy and Carl, and I say all the dirty fucking things I want.”
Her swallow is slow and audible. I nod to the backseat. “My jackets back there if you still need it.”
My eyes fall to the flouncy blouse she’s wearing. Saying hello, begging for attention, her nipples peek through, two perfectly hard lumps. Goddamn. So I’m a fucking nipple man now?
She reaches for the handle and begins closing her own door. When I make it to the driver’s side and climb in, I find Beck staring out the windshield, no jacket, knee bouncing.
I take a leap and reach out, resting my hand on her knee. The bouncing slows to a stop.
“Is this okay?” I ask, voice raspy and hoarse, and I swear she finds relief in my hesitation.
The way she bites into her bottom lip before she nods her approval tells me she’s likely more than okay with it.
I try to calm her suddenly unkempt nerves on the drive to the restaurant by asking her about her parents and her life. It just so happens that calming her nerves benefits me because I want to know everything that is Rebecca Reid.
“How long have your parents been together?” I ask, fanning my fingers out along her inner thigh. My hand is still near her knee, but I’ve repositioned it to be slightly more personal, resting on the inside of her leg. When I glance her way, I see she’s nuzzled close to the center console, giving me as much of herself as she can.
I remind my dick that this is our first date because, in addition to noticing her position change, I catch her hard little nipples again, and my dick gets ideas. It’s the first date; I will not be seeing her topless, much less dragging my tongue over her bare skin. Time to reroute the brain.
“Forever,” she sighs. “I mean, actually? Their anniversary is July 23rd. They got hitched in Las Vegas in 1985.”
Before I can do mental math, she drops her hand on top of mine, weaving our fingers together on her leg. My face heats from the intimacy of her gesture; truthfully, I’m surprised. Beck has understandable walls built up around her. Her hand against mine doesn’t mean the walls are down, but it feels like another cracked window or open door.
“They were only married one year before they had me.”
I shoot her a look. “So your mom was pregnant…”
“Three months after they got married.” Her chin rises proudly in recognition of her parents' devotion to one another. “When you know, you know.”
I chuckle. “I think if I knocked up a girl after three months, my dad would’ve had a heart attack.”
“You haven’t heard the best part,” she says, grinning wickedly. I’ve never seen her smile so wide, her blue eyes glittering back at me.
“What?” I ask, absolutely loving how much she loves her parents and enjoys telling their story.
Even though I haven’t spilled all the beans, it feels good talking about my own dad again. It’s been so long since I’ve recounted anything from his life. There was so much good, too, that I feel like a shitty human for basically ignoring it all for the last year.
Beck’s admiration and openness about her parents is inspiring. I should be more like Beck. The thing is, it’s just… it’s hard. Right now, with so much unknown, talking about Graham Burns makes my stomach roll.
“They only knew each other for three months before they went to Vegas.”
“Jesus. That’s… confidence.”
Beck laughs, tugging our linked hands a little bit lower as she pulls her thighs together, trapping me between her warm legs. “That’s idiocy. I would never advise Jett to do that.” She sighs, her head falling back to the headrest with a gentle thunk. I smile at her through the dim cab of the car after I’ve put it in park.
We stare at each other without speaking for at least a minute.
“But when you know, you know,” she says, and I’d like to say my ego isn’t so fucking big that I think she’s talking about me. But it really fucking feels like she’s talking about me.
“Ready to go in?” I ask, then I nod up at the restaurant.