I climb in my car, set the music for the two-hour drive ahead, and veer toward the freeway, cruising on gasoline and adrenaline.
This time tomorrow, I’m going on a date with Irie Davenport.
Chapter 15
Irie
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you curl your hair,” Brynn says from my bed as I stand in front of my dresser mirror, a long-barrel curling iron in hand.
“Is it too much?” I ask.
I still can’t believe I agreed to a date with Talon.
“Too much?” Brynn scoffs. “Honey, you’re going on a date with Talon freaking Gold. It might not be enough. Where’s the push up bra and the fuck-me heels?”
I shoot her a look from the mirror.
“I’m teasing. But seriously. Do you know how many girls would kill to be you right now?” she asks. “I mean, everyone knows he doesn’t date so the fact that he wants to take you out …”
I roll my eyes. “Lucky me, right?”
“I don’t know why you’re acting like you’re doing this as some kind of favor to him. You’re allowed to be excited. And you should be. You’re going to have an amazing time tonight.”
“Hopefully.” I give her a wink as I curl the last section.
“Are you going to let him kiss you again?” she asks.
I shrug. “If it happens, it happens.”
“What if he wants more than a kiss this time?”
I run my hand through my cooled curls to loosen them up before reaching for a tube of juicy pink lip gloss. “Then he’ll be sorely disappointed.”
A couple spritzes of perfume later, I examine myself in the full-length mirror in the corner. I opted for high-waisted jeans, strappy heels, and a white sweater. Definitely going for a casual look that’s a touch above my normal style yet doesn’t scream that I’m trying too hard.
The doorbell rings.
I gather a deep breath, grab my purse, and give myself one last once-over in the mirror before heading for the hallway.
“All right, babe. It’s your time to shine,” Brynn says, following behind me. “And I’m going to expect a full report first thing tomorrow.”
By the time I round the corner, I can hear Aunt Bette talking near the front door. She’s already let him in. Knowing her, she was probably waiting by the front window, watching for him to pull up.
“I’d tell you to bring her back the way you found her, but I’d almost rather you didn’t,” I hear Aunt Bette saying. “Show our girl a good time.”
“Aunt Bette,” I say, clearing my throat.
Talon’s weighty stare lifts to mine and Aunt Bette turns on her house-slippered feet.
“Irie.” Talon’s lips slip into a small smile. “Wow. Look at you.”
Who knew a few curls and some lip gloss would be all it takes to impress this man?
“You ready?” I ask. If we stand here any longer, Bette and Brynn are going to be popping popcorn. From the way they’re gawking, you’d think they were watching a real-life Nicholas Sparks movie playing out.
Talon gets the door, giving Aunt Bette and Brynn a quick nod goodbye, and within seconds he’s escorting me to an idling black BMW, every square inch of which is polished, shined, and waxed.
“I’ll get that,” he says, stepping around me to grab the passenger door.
I’ve never had a guy open a car door for me. It’s strange and old-fashioned and yet … kind of nice.
I slide into the warm, buttery leather and he makes his way to the driver’s side. The radio plays some indie rock station on low and the car smells like new leather with a hint of clean soap and aftershave.
“What’s the plan?” I ask when he climbs in.
“You’ll find out in about fifteen minutes,” he says, buckling in and checking his mirrors. “You warm enough? Music okay?”
“I am. And it is.” I study him from my periphery as we drive south. If I had to guess, we’re headed downtown.
The fabric of his navy cashmere sweater strains against his muscles as he drives and the silver watch on his left hand glints with each passing streetlamp. The car glides from street to street, the ride easy and smooth, and he drives like a man who isn’t in any kind of rush—a man who has the entire night ahead of him and wants to savor every moment.
“What’d you do last night?” I ask.
“Had to go to Laguna Cove for a family dinner,” he says.
“Is that where you’re from?”
“It is.” He studies the road ahead, coming to a gentle stop at the next light.
“Isn’t that a couple hours from here?”
Talon nods.
“You didn’t want to stay the weekend?” I ask.
He laughs through his nose. “You don’t know my family. An hour-long dinner with them is about as much as I can take.”
I have to admit, I’m surprised.
Talon has always projected a certain image to me and that image isn’t the kind I typically associate with dysfunctional families. Everything about him screams privilege and familial support.