The Dating Proposal(10)
He pretends to be taken aback. “I’ve heard of those. How awful.”
“It was terrible. Fur, claws, and metal everywhere.”
“My condolences. Hopefully you at least caught it on camera so you can post it on YouTube?”
I snap my fingers, aw-shucks-style. “If only.”
“Next time.”
“Or perhaps next time I will do a better job making sure the hard drive is out of his reach.”
He shrugs confidently, quirks up his lips. “Can I see it?”
“Um, sure.” Does he have a thing for broken hard drives? I reach into my bag where I have the drive and show him the silver device with the cracked end.
He surveys the damage. “I can fix it.”
I give him a quizzical look. “Seriously? You can fix a hard drive? Do you moonlight as a computer-repair guy?”
“Not exactly. I can fix pretty much anything.”
“That’s impressive.”
“Want me to try?”
I study his face, trying to figure him out. “You really want to?”
“I do. Yeah,” he says, as if he’s digging the prospect of repairing the damaged device. “I really enjoy that kind of challenge. It’s kind of like a game to me.”
But I don’t want to hand over a hard drive to a total stranger. “Actually . . .”
He smiles, raises a finger. “And I bet you probably don’t want to give your hard drive to a total stranger.”
I shrug, a little embarrassed. “Sorry. But you can’t be too careful.”
“I hear you completely. But this is simple. And . . .” He inches closer, reaches into the pocket of his jeans, and dangles his keys. Is he going to take me for a ride? “I have the tools right here.”
I blink, surprised. “What?”
He waggles the keys, and I spy a tiny little tube that looks like it holds screwdrivers.
“You carry computer-repair tools with you?”
He smiles casually. “You never know when you might need them. I also carry a Swiss Army knife. I read 101 Things a Navy SEAL Knows.” He glances out the window of the store at Chestnut Street, teeming with pedestrians. “And I also know the café next door makes a killer espresso. I’ll fix it while we get a cup of joe.”
Cup of joe! That’s almost like a date!
I mean, it’s not a date.
Obviously.
But it’s training-wheels time. Talking to this guy as he fixes my hard drive might help me prep for when I go out with Steven from Madcap, the Lemonhead Guy, Nathaniel from Julia’s bar, and the other men I hope will come knocking on my door—not literally—once my dating prowess improves.
“Sure,” I say, with probably way more enthusiasm than the prospect of a repair job and coffee deserves.
There’s a big bonus to this cuppa. I’ll get to look at his handsome face while he fixes it. I mean, I’ll look at his hands, because the sight of a man using a tool is super hot.
“By the way, I’m Chris McCormick.”
“McKenna Bell.”
He extends a hand.
We make contact, and there’s something about the feel of his strong hand in mine that kind of turns me on. Maybe it’s the firm grip, or the way his eyes light up as he smiles. I want to tug him closer and plant a hot, wet kiss on his lips.
Nothing will happen though. He didn’t ask me on a date, and I didn’t ask him either.
But it can’t hurt that I’m thinking slightly naughty thoughts. It’s evidence I’m getting my groove back.
Hello, groove. Nice to see you. I’ve missed you bunches.
6
Chris
I’m not checking out her body.
I’m not staring at her face. I’m focused on the task at hand. Thank God I have one, because otherwise, I’d be staring at those eyes. They’re blue with gold flecks, making them look almost hazel at times. She has all sorts of colors working in her irises, and the net effect is totally captivating.
So is her lush mouth.
She’s running it while I carefully screw the case back together. It’s painstaking work since it’s tiny and the screwdrivers are the size of nails.
“I tried to fix my shower once,” McKenna says, wrapping her slender hands around a cup of coffee. Yes, even her hands are hot. Lord help me.
“Yeah?” I glance at her hands then back at the hard drive. “How’d it go?”
“Well, if you consider scars a good thing, it went well.”
I look up. “Scars can be cool. I trust it went exceedingly well?”
She lifts her chin and shows me a thin white scar on the right side of her jaw. “Then I did a fabulous job ‘fixing’ the shower.” She sketches air quotes.
“Looks like it to me. But how exactly did the shower hit you in the face?”
“When the door fell.” She says it so matter-of-factly.
I blink, trying to process the enormity of everything that could have gone wrong. “I don’t know if I should be impressed you tried to fix a shower door without any fix-it skills, or impressed with your good luck in surviving the incident. Because those things are heavy.”
“Hey! How do you know I don’t have any fix-it skills?”