Page 15 of Show Me How
“I can buy my own beers,” I mutter.
“Don’t give me a hard time. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
I laugh, the beer doing a number on me, considering how little I drink in my real life. “Fine.”
It’s almost comical how he not only grabs his wallet with one hand but insists on using his card to pay the same way, all so hedoesn’t have to let go of me. There’s this natural comfortability that I feel with him, and clearly, he feels it with me too.
“Have a good night,” the bartender calls when Shade leads me away from the bar.
I give him a wave and hurry my pace to keep up with the long strides of Shade’s legs. He holds the door open for me, and I stare at the rain still falling before following him outside.
“Which car is yours?” he yells, the downpour swallowing his voice.
Considering there are only three cars in the parking lot, he has to already know, but I point to the white one anyway. When I first got here, I didn’t pay much attention to the vehicles already in the lot, but as we jog through the rain, I take a look.
There’s a dark grey, rusted pickup truck and a sleek, black two-door car parked in front of the bar, and I know without a doubt which is Shade’s without needing to ask. He confirms my guess when he waits for me to pull my key from inside my bra and unlock my car before taking a detour to the black one.
I quickly get into the car. Water drips into my eyes as I try to look out the window and see what he’s doing. It’s raining too hard, so I sit in silence and shiver, pouting despite myself.
When the driver’s door finally whips open, my shivers disappear. I watch as he slips inside the car and knocks his knees against the steering wheel before tossing a ball of fabric at me.
I drop the key in the console and wait for him to start the car. The immediate heat that comes flowing out of the vents makes my toes curl in my socks.
“Jesus, you’re small,” he mutters, fiddling with the seat settings.
“You’re just unusually large,” I shoot back.
“Most women find that a good thing.”
I roll my eyes and then stare at what he dropped in my lap. “What’s all this?”
“Clothes. They’re clean. I wasn’t sure if you brought anything here with you, and you can’t be driving home all day tomorrow in that dress, even with the hoodie over it.”
When I lift my gaze, he’s too busy adjusting all of my car settings to notice the intensity in it. I take in his wet, dishevelled appearance and immediately want to do something I’ve never wanted to before. He’s so completely unaware of how attractive he looks right now, his long hair wet and messy and water running down the length of his tattoo-covered neck. The T-shirt he’s wearing is soaked and sticks to his body, only making it harder to keep my thoughts from dipping into uncharted waters.
My breath thins as I keep myself frozen in my seat. It could be so easy to lean over the console and grab his face . . . but then what would I do? The only person I’ve kissed was just as inexperienced as I was, and the entire experience was horrible.
If I lunged at him and kissed him the way I want to right now, I’d only embarrass myself.
“Thank you,” I murmur instead.
“It’s no big deal.” Finally settled, he looks at me and grins. “They won’t fit you, but I figure you won’t mind that once you’re out of that damn dress.”
“Do you have something against my dress, Shade?”
“Other than the fact you seem to hate it, nah, princess. It’s just a dress to me.”
“I don’t hate it,” I mumble, dropping my eyes to my lap.
“You don’t have to put on a front with me right now. If you hate the dress, say that. I’m not going to tell on you.”
“So, you’re not going to judge me for agreeing to wear it, even if I do think it’s one of the ugliest dresses I’ve ever seen?”
He drops his hand to my thigh and backs out of the parking spot. The ease of his movements as he spins the steering wheel with the heel of his palm threatens to bring back all of the desires I just pushed down. Still, he keeps my thigh in his grip and shiftsthe gears with the same hand he used to steer the car before returning it to the wheel.
“No. I don’t know enough about your life back home to judge you for why you didn’t tell them to burn it instead,” he says.
My throat feels drier than it’s ever been. “I appreciate that.”
