Page 43 of Dahlia Made A List

Years of suffering the condemnation and criticism of my parents, my brother, and the rest of my relatives hardened me against extremes of emotion.

Why argue back when nothing I did or said would change simple fact? They were right. I couldn’t read. I was the defective son. My defense evolved into a detached resistance to their opinions. They couldn’t get a rise out of me if their words didn’t penetrate the wall I’d erected. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of being badgered into losing my cool.

As a result, I’d inadvertently solidified their label of being lazy, too laid back, uncaring.

But staring down Kiko Cordova, a man I’d known and respected for years, the hackles on the back of my neck rose. My hand tightened into a fist and I was a breath away from slamming it into his smug face.

Just for letting his dirty gaze linger a little too long on Dahlia Whitcombe.

That fuckin’ kiss last night had awakened more than my dick.

Dahlia shifted closer to my side, her slim fingers squeezing my hand.

“Maybe,” Cordova said, breaking the tension-filled air with a smirk. Cordova’s eyes glittered in the streetlights, making me grit my teeth. “I could come around your place tomorrow and let you take the cruck for a ride?”

I released Dahlia’s hand, but snaked my arm around her waist, curving her in front of me and putting more space between her and the asshole. “We’re done here.”

Cordova laughed behind us, but when Dahlia turned to say something, I coaxed her back along the asphalt to the main strip of cars.

“I didn’t get to tell him I want the car,” she said as we moved into the stream of wandering people.

“You don’t know if you do want it yet.”

“Oh, I do, Wy. I didn’t know crucks existed, but now that I do, I have to have one.”

“El Camino or ElCo.”

“Nope. Chuck my cruck.”

I stopped, ignoring the grunts of people inconvenienced behind me. “Chuck?”

She nodded, her pretty blue eyes sparkling with the laugh she was holding back. “Chuck.”

Of course Dahlia would name her car. The tightness slid from my shoulders and I snatched her hand back into mine. “We’ll see.”

“My cruck, Wy. How’s this a ‘we’ll see’ situation?”

“I know he did a lot of work on it for his sister. Worked with Creed and Easy, both excellent mechanics, so it’s probably all fine, but we need to make sure before we commit to buying a rebuilt car. A lot can go wrong.”

And I’d be damned if I’d let her in an unsafe car. Probably she should get something off the Chevy lot, new or near to it, but such a tame, boring vehicle seemed sacrilegious. Dahlia needed something with spark, something as unique as she was.

Dahlia’s eyes burned up at me, glinting in the streetlamp light with blue fire and my pulse hammered.We, I’d said we’d make sure the car was fit for her. I was thinking about matching up a car to her personality. I was thinking about the future and sharing that future with Dahlia.

What the fuckingfuck?

I maneuvered us through the crowd and soon enough, we were walking back toward the main strip where the majority of cars were staged. Dahlia nudged my arm drawing my attention to a pair of foodcarts parked at the corner. The first cart displayed fluffy pink, blue, yellow and green spun sugar. Kids and adults jostled around the cart and with a grin toward me, Dahlia claimed a spot in line.

“The other one has real food.” I canted my head toward the larger cart.

“Nope,” she said. “What if I eat a hamburger and get too full? What if I run out of room for purple cotton candy?”

A half laugh tipped my lips into an almost smile. Of course my girl would want her dessert first.

She shiver-stepped beside me and I couldn’t tell if it was from the drop in temperature or excitement, but I tugged her under my arm regardless. The heat of her beside me, her sweet scent of honey and something floral I could never hope to name wafted up to me. Whatever the scent was, she smelled of desire; a desire thick and heavy and inescapable. I clenched my hold on her upper arm, digging my fingers in and she tipped her face up.

I sucked in a slow breath, taking in her expression. Her lips, soft and shining as though she’d just licked them. The lower one plumper than the top, begging to be sucked on. The memory of her lips moving against mine from last night crashed over me with the same impact that sent me bolting out her door with a flimsy excuse.

Because despite her insistence on flower tea and overcooked meals, the idea that I’d ruined the surprise friendship I’d found with her was untenable.

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