Page 68 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

“I’ll pay for an Uber.”

“I guess that’ll work.” Her nose crinkles. “Wait, no. What if the Uber driver is someone we know? Is Dax Cruz still doing it?”

I shake my head. “He’s working at the auto shop with the rest of his family.”

“I thought he was moonlighting.”

“Hmm. I don’t know, and I don’t keep tabs on them. So, no Uber. I could just keep running here.”

“No. It’ll raise too many suspicions.”

I uncork the half-full bottle of wine from last night, and pour us each a glass, thinking of our options. “I could meet you somewhere and drive you the rest of the way.”

“Somewhere prying eyes won’t see?” She snorts. “Me getting into your car may be far worse than people just seeing you hanging around McQuaid Circle.”

“That’s true, especially because you’re hard to miss.” I take a sip, eyeing Joey who’s staring at me from behind a chair. When I look back at Regan, she’s glaring at me. “What?”

“Low blow, Montana.”

I replay my words and feel guilty as hell. “Shit, not because… no, I meant your clothes. Those striped tights you wear. The extremely loud shirts. They practically scream ‘look at me.’ Maybe if you tamed it down and wore normal clothes…”

She glares in dissonance. “You want me to wear sweatpants and a Nike T-shirt?”

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing.” I tap a foot on the floor. “You have a clothing shop, Regan. I’m sure you can find something that won’t make you stick out and be so obvious. Then we can meet in the very back of the parking lot behind the train station.”

Her mouth moves from side to side as she contemplates it. “I could say the same thing about you. Nobody else in this town drives a dark green Jaguar.”

“Wyatt Ashford drives a Jag. But he owns the four-door sedan. And it’s silver. I’m the only one with an F-Type coupe.”

“Yeah, that’s not conspicuous at all.”

“Got any better ideas?” I ask.

“We could meet in the city.”

I shoot her a cockeyed stare. “You want to take a train all the way into the city and get a hotel room, for what, an hour? And then come back on the train? Seems like an awful lot of trouble.”

“It would be more like three or four hours,” she says.

My mouth forms a grin.

“Easy, Casanova. It’s so I can lie down for a while. Not so you can work your magic, or whatever you had in mind. And definitely not so you can stick any fingers up my bumhole.”

“Hey, maybe you shouldn’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“Haveyoutried it?” she asks with an inquisitive leer.

“Nope.” I smile. “But I might be willing to if you—”

She covers her eyes with her hands. “Oh my god, we’re not having this conversation. We’ll try it your way tomorrow. I’ll dress down and meet you in the back parking lot. Just text me when you get there. If there’s anyone around, we’ll move locations.”

I smile.

“What?” she asks, clearly irritated.

“I’m kind of liking this covert operation.”

She rolls her eyes, takes a very large gulp of wine and heads to the back. “You coming or what?” she shouts over her shoulder.

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