She takes a few breaths, then tells me to hurry and finish, in not-so-nice of words. I don’t blame her. Pain tends to bring out the worst in people. But if that’s her worst, she’s far better than me.
The last two are so close together, I pull them out at the same time. Then dump some water on the dried alcohol pads and dab at her foot. I press some Band-Aids over the holes to keep them from getting infected. Her body slumpsagainst the opposite door, and she leans her head against the window, her eyes closed.
She exhales. “Thank you.”
I stuff the Band-Aid wrappers into a cup holder.
“For making you jump off a cliff, letting you freeze, or leading you into a cactus?” I say sarcastically. What was I thinking with this date? Just because she admitted that she has always wanted to fly doesn’t mean I should force her off the first cliff I find. Am I pushing her too far and too fast with the dates as well?
Juliet pulls her foot off the console and sits up straight in her seat. “For giving me an adventure and taking care of me.”
I shake my head. “Believe it or not, I had a different outcome in mind when I planned this night.” My ears burn when I realize what that could have sounded like.
She smiles. “Minus the cactus and the minimal hypothermia, this is one of the best dates I’ve ever been on.”
Now I smile. “So, you’ve never been on a date before?”
Juliet laughs, andthe sound of it allows me to relax for the first time since our almost kiss. “Oh, I could tell you horror stories.”
“You’re on. I bet I’ve got you beat.”
For the next hour, we talk about every bad date we’ve ever been on. I love listening to her, watching her eyes light up when she’s gearing up for the funny part of the story, and the little snort she makes just before she laughs. I don’t think she even knows she does it.
Juliet yawns, and I finally look at the clock on the dash. It’s one in the morning.
“Shoot. I should get you home.” I sit up and buckle my seatbelt.
She looks at the clock, and her eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh, it’s so late.” She tugs her seatbelt on. The shirt gets tangled in the straps, and she struggles to get it free. Then she stops, pulls the top of the shirt from her chest, and giggles.
My eyebrows furrow when she unbuckles again and takes off the shirt.
“What are you—”
“What kind of t-shirt did you get at that Justin Bieber concert?” She flips the shirt right side out, and my stomach drops.
I hold up a hand. “Okay, I can explain.”
“Please do.” She’s giggling so hard tears gather at the corner of her eyes as she holds up the shirt. My shirt. The one with a very shirtless and very tattooed Justin Bieber on the front.
“I paid for one of those shirts with the tour name and dates, but they made a mistake and gave me the wrong one. I didn’t look at it until I got home. So then I…” Stuck it in the backseat of my truck, where it has apparently been hiding for the last six months.
“Uh-huh, sure.” She’s still laughing. If I wasn’t so embarrassed, I would join in. “I definitely need to see this on you.”
I shake my head. “No way. That shirt is officially yours.” Thank heavens Sean and Trent never found it. I would have been shamed into oblivion.
Juliet holds the shirt out to me, dangling it in front of my face. “Oh, come on, just once. For me.” She pouts her lip, and gosh dang it if it doesn’t undo every ounce of masculinity in my body. What’s left of it, anyway.
“I’ll put it on for exactly five seconds.” I unclip my seatbelt and take the shirt, throwing it over my head. “One… Two…”
“Wait, I need a picture!” She pulls out her phone, but I yank the shirt off before she can get it into position. “Killjoy.” She shoots me a teasing grin, then grasps the shirtand puts it on.
Nowshe’swearing a shirtless Justin Bieber. “I think I preferred it inside out.”
“Jealous much?”
“Absolutely not. I’m very confident in my masculinity.” Well, I was until about twenty seconds ago. I’ve noticed the little glances she’s given my chest throughout the night. Like the one she’s giving me right now.
“You should be,” she says so softly I almost miss it.
