Page 109 of Can't Text This

“Fuck, Monty. I feel like such a dirty asshole right now. I didn’t mean to not properly take you out. It’s just that we’ve known each other for weeks now and talk every day, and I guess I never realized we hadn’t actually been out together.” He shakes his head, disappointed in himself. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like we’re actually dating. We’re just having fun, doing the light and fluffy thing, not taking anything too seriously. I guess it doesn’t surprise me that we haven’t been on a real date yet.”

“But does it sadden you?”

I twist my lips up, thinking. “I think if you weren’t so fun and we didn’t have such a good time texting, it might. I might feel like we were missing something, but I don’t.”

“Good. That’s good. Makes me feel a bit better.”

“But…”

“Always with the butts. You’re such an ass girl.”

I glare at him. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to go out on dates. I think that would be nice. Nothing over the top, but dinner or a movie together every now and then would be fun.”

“Well, we’re not doing dinner and a movie tonight, sorry. I’m planning something else that’s a lot more fun.”

“Then lead the way,” I tell him. “Let’s go have some fun.”

“No, no. After you.” He holds his hand out. “Ladies first.”

I push past him, and not until I hear him suck air in through his teeth do I realize what he just did.

I peek back over my shoulder to find him standing in the middle of the apartment, knuckles tucked between his teeth as he stares at my behind.

“Damn.”

“Ugh!”

I pull the door closed, right in his laughing face.

“That ass is what dreams are made of, baby!” he hollers from inside.

I roll my eyes but can’t stop the smile spreading across my face.

What have I gotten myself into with this guy?

* * *

“Okay,okay, so you were right: metal isn’t bad, especially that Parkway Drive band. Did you know they’re from Australia and are surfers too?”

Robbie grins at this information. “I did. How doyouknow that?”

“I looked them up. That lead singer is mighty cute.”

“You bone one bad boy with tattoos and suddenly that’s all you want,” he teases.

“Stop it.” I shove at him playfully as he puts the car into park.

“We’re here. Stay. Let me get the door.”

I wait patiently as he climbs from the vehicle and rounds the front.

He pops open my door with an over-the-top bow, holding his hand out to me. “Milady.”

“Thank you,” I say, climbing from the car and glancing around the lot. “This is the secret place you were dying to whisk me off to?”

“Is there a problem, Princess Montana?”

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