Page 13 of Girl Going Nowhere

The quirked smile he offers tugs up only half of his upper lip, revealing a deep-set dimple on his right cheek. It’s friendly but knowing. “Hi.”

Obviously caught gawking, I smooth my clammy palms down my thighs and force a semi-genuine smile at his greeting. “Hi. Sorry for staring, you’re just—” I stop myself, cringing inwardly at what I was about to tell him.

Amusement flickers in the amber eyes scoping out my twisted facial expression. “I’m just what?”

Screw it.My shoulders drop from their tense stature as I settle back into the seat. “The old version of me would have come right out and said you’re hot. Because you are.”

The other half of his lip lifts. “Yeah? What about the new version of you?”

I think about it for a few seconds. “I’d just be creepy and stare at you and silently appreciate your looks in my head.” Which I was caught doing. “I’m trying to change my ways. Not be so forward. It tends to get me into trouble.”

“That sounds boring,” he remarks in that yummy, rumbly tone. He rests his arms casually on the armrests of his seat. “I think people should be honest about what they’re thinking. It makes things easier in the long run. More straight-forward, don’t you think?”

My lips rub together. Normally, I’d agree. If we knew what everybody thought from the start, there’d be a lot less confusion in the world when assumptions get twisted. “I’m not so sure people want to hear what goes on in my head most times. Do you know who the Tasmanian Devil is?”

Slowly, those bright eyes blink at me. “Like theLooney Tunescharacter?”

I nod. “Picture that, but in my head. It’s a whirlwind up there. Not pretty.”

His eyes unabashedly rake over the length of me, making me wish I was wearing more than just an old pair of black leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. The top hides a little bit of the weight I’m carrying in my midsection but not the obvious size of my chest, if the arch of his eyebrows is any indication.

He pulls his gaze back up to meet mine and smiles wider. “I find it hard to believe that anything about you isn’t pretty.”

Smooth.“Are you heading to Charlotte too?”

His low chuckle seems to appreciate my subject change. “Yeah. It was a last-minute work thing.”

My lips weigh at the corners in a teasing manner. “You mean I could have had this row all to myself if you didn’t book?”

“I’d like to think it’ll be far more entertaining with me here,” he replies easily, lifting a shoulder encased by a tight green T-shirt. It highlights his brawny shoulders and massive biceps that may or may not be nearly the size of my head. Ink wraps around his right forearm all the way up past the sleeve of his shirt, making me wonder just how far it spreads along his bronze skin.

Fighting back a smile, I glance back out the window before he sees just how right he is. “Maybe.”

Another small laugh is what I hear, pulling my lips into a light smile. It’s been a while since I’ve flirted with anybody and even longer since I’ve considered doing something about it.

The stranger asks, “What’s your name?”

I counter, “What’syours?”

When he’s silent, I turn my head to see his cocked with interest. I’m not sure why his eyes are dancing with mischief, but I can’t help but raise my eyebrows in challenge until he answers. “Rafael, but people call me Raf.”

I study him. It’s a fitting name for him. “Raf,” I test, nodding. “I like it.”

“Are you going to share yours?”

“It’s Blake. No shorter version, sorry. Thereisan older woman who lives in my apartment building that sometimes calls me bitch. But, in my defense, it stems from theone timeI took the last parking spot. She’s hated me ever since.”

Raf blinks a few times, then laughs. “You’re something else.”

“I don’t make it a habit to steal parking spaces from little old ladies,” I say, not that he probably cares one way or another.

“Blake is an unusual name.”

“For a girl, you mean?”

He lifts a shoulder.

My head rests against the headrest as I loosen a short sigh. “I wish I could say I was named after Blake Lively because she’s been my woman crush ever since I can remember. But it’s really because my dad is obsessed with country music and loves Blake Shelton. He even rocked a mullet for a while. What about Rafael? Any special meaning behind it?”

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