The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(19)

“That’s it? I mean, it’s fucked, of course, but that kind of thing happens all the time. And it wasn’t you. That’s what made you so cynical?” It’s not, of course, but he doesn’t need to know everything about me.

“Can’t reveal all of my secrets, Mr. Dawson. But you’ve gotten more than like… anyone I know. Are you a detective? Are you just pretending to be a mechanic? Maybe you’re undercover, trying to catch some creepy bad guys. Maybe that’s why you’re so good at getting me to talk.” I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and close one eye to get him to stay still while I inspect him. He laughs before using that warm hand to keep me going.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you home.”

“Why do you keep calling me that? Sweetheart?”

“Don’t know. Fits. You’re sweet.”

“No, I’m not. I’m boring.” I pop the ‘b’ with more emphasis than needed. “I don’t do anything. This is the most fun I’ve had in… A really long time.” We’re in the parking lot now, and he stops us in front of my car. My hands go into my bag to find my keys.

“I’m glad you had a good time, Cassie. Is there anything you need in your car?” He takes my bag from my arm, reaching in and quickly locating my keys. I try to get them back.

“Give me that. I need my keys.”

“No, Cass. I’m driving.”

“I can do it. Or I can call a cab or—” He cuts me off, eyes having gone from playful to stern.

“I’m taking you home.”

“But that’s against the rules.” An eyebrow quirks.

“Whose rules?”

“Mine. It’s rule number two.”

“How many rules are there?”

“Four.”

“You gonna share those?” Like seems to be common with the man, he looks amused by me.

Still, I recite the four rules I’ve lived by for seven years without hesitation. Rules I created to maintain my own sense of sanity, to create distance. To keep me safe. “One, I go on two dates and two dates only. Two, we never go to my place, and I never go to theirs. Three, never ever, ever kiss a client. And four, which, really, is a good life rule, never ever ever get attached.” He stares at me, and for a second, I wonder if I shared too much. “It’s dangerous business, getting attached.”

“Well, I’m a rule breaker, sweetheart. You’re gonna learn that. I’m taking you home.”

“Look, I’ve had fun. More fun than… I don’t know the last time I had this much fun. Your friends are awesome. Trivia was a blast. But I gotta go home. I have work in the morning. And I cannot get into a car with a client and have them take me home. No way, Jose. I think I’d give my assistant a nervous breakdown if I did, especially after last night.” I’m not too tipsy to know that getting into a car with a relative stranger is a terrible idea, especially if no one knows you’re doing it. Even if you feel strangely comfortable and safe with said stranger.

“Makes sense. You send her a text now, tell her I’m taking you home. That I’m walking you to your door and leaving, and you’ll text her when you lock the door behind you, safe and alone in your apartment.” I stare at him, confused. It seems… strangely rational.

“I don’t know, Luke….”

“Just need to know you got home safe, yeah? This is a test, right? Would a good man let you take a cab home in this state?” Once again, rational. Too rational, maybe.

“I guess not….”

“What’s your address?” I stare at him before giving it to him, then pull my phone out to send a text to Gabrielle. When the clock blinks 2:15 at me, I blink back at it, unsure how it got this late.

“Is this right?” I say, looking up at him after I hit send.

“Is what right?”

“The time. Is it two?”

“Yup.” He grabs my hand once more and starts to guide me away.

“In the morning?” Another deep laugh, one resonating in my gut in a way it shouldn’t.

“Yeah, Cass. In the morning.” We stop a few spots down at a nice, newish black pickup truck. Not the tow truck he was driving yesterday,

“It’s not a tow truck.” His laugh is intoxifying, making me feel even more lightheaded with the deep timbre.

“Not my daily driver, babe. Plus, that’s the garage’s truck, not mine. This is mine.”

“What about my car?” Common sense returns, thankfully, and I remember I really shouldn’t leave my new car in a restaurant parking lot overnight.

“I’ll get it to you before you wake up. Just show me where to park it when I drop you off.”

“I don’t know—”

“Move cars for a living. I’m capable, promise.” I stare at him, but my vision is swimming, a mix of exhaustion and drink and something I refuse to acknowledge making my head light and loopy.

“Fine.” I agree with this stupid, stupid plan. Who the hell am I, and where is my uptight librarian with her common sense? I think. Oh, yeah. I drank three Long Island iced teas and played bar trivia with strangers turned almost, sort of, kind of friends. When he opens the door for me (gentleman points that I hope I remember to put in my notes), I just stare at the seat, considering how on earth I’ll get up there without breaking my neck.