“We’ll pick up my car from the shop and I’ll drive us there. It’s only around ten minutes away.”
Once we’re at the shop, he leads me around to the side of the building, and I freeze in my tracks.
“Stop!” I holler.
He does, too. Instantly, as if on high alert, he moves closer to me and starts to look around. Only when he sees me staring at his car with my mouth hanging open does he seem to loosen up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Are you kidding me right now? You drive a 1967 Chevy Impala? That’s your car?”
He shrugs, but I can see his chest bow out proudly. “Yeah. How do you know about cars?”
“My dad.” I walk all around it, naming off all the improvements he’s had made on top of all the refinishing touches he’s made to the factory body. I lean in and look through the window. “You still have the 8 track player.” I’m stomping my feet I’m so excited.
I open the door and slide into the passenger seat. “Okay, I’m ready, but can you go fast? I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these. Show me what the V8 motor in this thing can do.”
He’s staring at me slack-jawed, no doubt surprised by everything I know about cars. He gets in and turns sideways to look at me. I look up his big barrel of a chest, his wide shoulders and the heated look in his eyes. I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking because all I can think about is how weird it would be if I asked him to have sex with me in his car.
“What?” I ask him because I can see the question in his eyes.
“What are you thinking about?”
I laugh, I have to. It’s either that or I’m going to confess every sinful thought I’m having right now. “I’m thinking you want me to drive.”
He shrugs his shoulders and opens his door. I squeal and grab his arm. “Really?”
He laughs. “Obviously you like my car. I trust you.”
I clap my hands together and slide over into the driver’s seat as he walks around. He gets in and shuts the door. I run my hands up and down the steering wheel. I can’t stop smiling. “Thank you for this, Tate.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but just the fact he’s willing to give up control and let me drive makes me feel special. He doesn’t seem like the type of man that likes to be driven around.
“Put your seatbelt on.”
When he does as I ask, I start off down the road. It takes us a lot longer than ten minutes to get to The Whiskey Whistler. I drove around town and then he let me open it up out on the highway between here and Jasper. Driving around town with a man I just met has been the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
* * *
Tate
I knew this was a bad idea. I knew when she asked to go to the bar it wasn’t a smart move to bring her here. But there’s no way I was going to let her come on her own. And I don’t really know why. It’s not like Whiskey Run is a high crime area or anything. But just the thought of her being on her own without me by her side bothers me.
“Uhhh,” she says as she spins around, looking at the bar. “Are you kidding me?” She moves in close and puts her hands back on my shoulders.
I have no clue what she’s going on about. I haven’t even been able to form a complete sentence since she walked into my arms. We’ve been dancing for a little over a half hour, and for someone that doesn’t like to dance, I sure as hell don’t want this to end.
“What? Am I kidding you about what?”
She moves in closer, and her breasts brush across my chest. I can’t stop myself. I grip on to her hips, pulling her into me until our bodies mesh together. Everything I’ve said about not getting close has completely gone out the window because there’s no way I could push her away right now if I wanted to. Which I don’t.
She’s looking up at me. “Okay, maybe... just maybe, by looking at the outside of the building I can see why it may not be safe for a woman to come here alone. But the inside. This place is faaaancy. I’ve been in five-star restaurants that don’t even look this nice.”
“Yeah, Malcolm really did a great job on remodeling this place...”
“Uh-uh, no way mister, you have to explain yourself...”
I bring my hand up between us and tuck a hair behind her ear. I should let her go, but the urge to brush my knuckles across her smooth cheek is too powerful.
Her face turns into my hand, reminding me of a cat that wants to be petted. “Explain what?” I ask her huskily.