They’re gentle. Warm. Reassuring.
A woman could lose herself in those whiskey-colored irises.
And then there’s his body art. I’m a sucker for a good tattoo and his left arm is inked wrist to shirtsleeve with roses, and nestled between the shadowed blossoms is an intricate compass that points north.
Does it hold special meaning for him?
I part my lips to ask, but the driver cuts me off.
“Here we are,” she says, rolling to a stop in front of my building.
I glance up at the high-rise, and when I turn back to Galahad, he’s already climbing out of the car.
No surprise there.
The man has proven he’s got impeccable—if not antiquated—manners. Dumping a woman at the curb probably isn’t his style.
He jogs around the car and before I know it, he’s opening my door.
Damn. No guy has ever opened a door for me on a date.
This isn’t a date.
Whatever. It’s still a nice gesture.
I slide out of the car, praying I don’t accidentally flash him the goods.
The goods he had his nose buried in ten minutes ago?
My entire body heats at the memory of his beard scraping my thighs and it’s all I can do not to fan myself as I straighten.
“Thanks again for the ride.”
“It was no problem.” He offers me that shy smile again and it nearly undoes me. I don’t know what it is about this guy, but it’s like the universe is testing my resolve. “I’m Brady Vaughn, by the way.”
Brady.
The name is traditional, yet reserved, just like the man before me.
It suits him.
“And you are?”
I weigh the question. I’m not in the habit of giving my name to strangers, but he gave me a lift and despite his size, he seems harmless enough, like a giant teddy bear.
So do all serial killers before they chop you into little pieces.
Yeah, but how many of them use Uber?
Brady clears his throat and I throw caution to the wind.
“I’m Piper.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Piper.” He extends his hand and when I take it, his calloused fingers envelop my own. His grip is firm, his touch feather light, and when our palms brush, lightning sparks between us, shooting straight up my arm and into my chest, where it warms me from the inside out. “Well,” he says, releasing my hand. “Now that we’ve been properly introduced, maybe I could…take you out sometime?”
“You want to take me out?” Because yes, despite the warmth flooding my body, my brain is light-years behind. “Like a date?”
The words escape before I can stop them, but in my defense, I so didn’t see this coming. There was no flirting in the car. No witty banter. No accidentally bumping my knee with his, which is actually pretty freaking awesome because despite being smashed in the backseat of a compact sedan, he didn’t even try to manspread.
