Page 23 of Alone With You
He pinned her with that clear, green gaze. “That’s one thing, Jenny Vance, that we can agree on.”
***
A soft, cool rain greeted them when they left the movie theater later that evening. Logan welcomed the chill. After sitting in a dark room with Jenny’s smooth thighs constantly in his visual field, he needed an icy shower.
“We’d better get to the truck,” he said gruffly, shrugging his jacket over his shoulders, “it’s going to pour.”
The air in the car was heavy and humid, and the insides of the windows sweated with moisture. He turned the key and revved up the motor, trying to ignore the subtle scent of strawberries as Jenny settled in beside him.
“So,” he said, “how did you like the movie?”
“Fabulous.”
He didn’t believe that for a minute. “Got a favorite car crash?”
“I wasn’t keeping count.”
“But you were counting the bodies, yes?”
“Nope.”
“Admit it, Jenny.” He turned out onto the highway and headed down the road just as the patter of the rain intensified on the windshield. “That movie sucked.”
“You want me to lie?”
“There was more testosterone in it than in a whole class of eighth-grade boys.”
“What’s wrong with testosterone? You’re a man, you’re full of it.”
He grunted, for, medically, she was right. Long-term abstinence had a way of building up a cache.
Can’t think of that.
“I like brainless thrillers.” She leaned back on the chair, the dashboard lights liming her face. “It’s one of the few pleasures my ex introduced me to.”
Ex.
“It’s therapeutic to stop thinking for a while,” she added, “and just be distracted by explosions.”
“You don’t do that often.”
“Do what? Go to the movies?”
“Stop thinking.”
He regretted the words instantly, because it destroyed any therapeutic benefit and set her shifting in her seat. Ahead of them loomed the possibility of a good night kiss. His reptilian brain wanted her to stopped thinking altogether—but his cerebral cortex knew she deserved better.
“Who was the bastard, anyway,” he said. “This ex who only pleased you when he took you to a movie?”
She startled him by laughing. “That’s a more perfect description than you’ll ever know.”
He didn’t know where to start with that.
“I tried very hard to make him happy. I was faithful, enjoyed his company, greeted him at the door every day when he came home—”
“Did he want a girlfriend or a cocker spaniel?”
“He wanted something more, that’s for sure.” She turned her face toward the passenger side window. “Something I wasn’t capable of giving.”
