Page 41 of The Misfit

His gaze drags over the length of my body in a similar way, but his expression is hungry, like he wants to take a bite out of me. His mysterious eyes keep me in place as they meet my own. Holy shit, is he good at acting.

“Ready, Pantry Girl?” he calls as I close the distance to him.

No. Never. But …

“Where are we going?”

His grin becomes mischievous as he opens the passenger door for me. “Do you trust me?”

I slide into the Jeep, noticing he’s already wiped down my seat and door handle from the lemony scent of disinfecting wipes in the car. These little considerations keep throwing me off balance. Fake or real, he’s far more thoughtful than any guy I’ve come across in years.

“That’s debatable. It’s our first date, and I only know a fraction of everything there is to know about you. Also, that’s not an answer.”

“No,” he agrees, starting the engine. “It’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

Lee glances away from the road and right at me. “What would be the fun in that?”

I frown. “There wouldn’t be much fun, but at least I wouldn’t be anxious. I thought we were going to a restaurant to have dinner.”

“You’re worth more than a five-star dinner, Salem. You deserve it all.”

Why does he say things like that? He can’t, shouldn’t.

We continue driving past all the restaurants I researched. Past the safe, quiet places I’d prepared myself for. Past everything familiar until?—

“No.” The word comes out sharp when I spot the neon sign for Pulse. “No way.”

“Yes, way.” Lee parks but doesn’t unlock the doors. “I know you’re scared and afraid of something different, but if we want this to look convincing, we need to be seen and not just at some restaurant. The nightclub is perfect. At least one person there knows my family and will happily report back to a member of the Sterling crew. It’ll make waves, which is what we need.”

“Are you sure about that?” My voice rises. “Do you know how many people? How many germs? How much?—”

“I called ahead.” He turns to face me, all playful pretense gone. “VIP booth. Clean surfaces. Security will keep crowds back. I’ve thought of everything.”

“Lee … but?”

“Remember rule number one?” His hand finds mine, thumb tracing over my nitrile-covered knuckles. I went for black ones tonight to match my sweater at least. “You have to let me push your boundaries sometimes.”

I stare at the club entrance, cataloging threats.

Crowds (approximately one hundred people in line).

Exposed surfaces (countless).

Potential contact points (infinite).

“I can’t?—”

“You can.” He squeezes my hand. “It’s not that you can’t; it’s that you’re afraid. I’ve got you. We’ll be here for three hours, tops. Then we go home, and I’ll let you sanitize everything twice.”

“Three times,” I counter automatically.

His smile softens. “Three times.”

The bass from the club vibrates through the Jeep, matching my racing pulse.

“VIP booth?” I ask weakly.

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