So did he—forgetting my mom and Josie altogether. “You clean up good.”
“Back atcha,” I said.
“Thanks for saving me tonight,” he said.
“Just don’t tell anybody.”
His smile faded again then, and he made a dead-seriousXover his heart as he said, “Hope to die.”
He took a few steps closer, like we were the only people in the room. Then he took my hand to lead me to the door.
“I have to tell you something, rookie,” I said.
“What?”
“I cannot walk in these shoes.”
“That’s fine,” he said, holding out his arm. “I’ll help you.”
“And I feel totally naked in this dress.”
He stepped back like he was checking. “You’re definitely not naked. That, I would notice.”
“And I know this is not a date, but it kind of feels like a date, and I need you to know I’ve never been on a date before.”
He tilted his head. “Never?”
“Never.”
“This is your first date?”
“It’s not a date.”
“But if it were—it would be?”
I nodded. “If it were, it would be.”
I think we said good-bye to my mom and Josie, but I don’t really remember.
All I remember is the feel of his arm around my waist, and how thin that silky fabric was, and how I was aware of everything: the wind blowing my hair, the late-afternoon sun on my collarbones, the feel of each unsteady step. Every inch of my skin felt awake, every breath I took seemed to swirl in my chest, and every time I dared to glance over at the rookie, my whole body tingled.
Not good—and too good, all at the same time.
He led me to his truck and opened the door for me.
Was I perfectly capable of opening my own door? Yes.
But I liked it.
As I tried to settle into my seat, I didn’t know what to do with my legs. Finally, I crossed them, watching one hook over the other with a strange, out-of-body feeling like they didn’t even belong to me.
The rookie, settling in on his side, watched them, too. Instead of starting the car.
“I didn’t know you had legs,” he said then, nodding at them.
“Yep,” I said. “Always.”
“You kind of keep them hidden.”
