Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(28)

I looked down at her. She’d stopped fighting and was just standing there like a deer in a floodlight.

I glanced back at the list. “And you’ve never been on a date? And you’ve never—” My head swiveled around again to face her.

“Oh God,” she moaned, letting me go so she could drop her head into her hands.

I looked back at the list and then back at her. “Are you serious? You’ve never been kissed?”

She dropped her hands, her face crimson. “I’ve been kissed!”

My brows rose.

“Just not since the second grade.”

I didn’t know what came over me in that long moment that I watched her, something deep and fierce and elemental, something that made me want to go back in time and change her past myself. Worse, it gave me flashes of visions of helping her cross that particular first off her list. I imagined the sweetness of her lips, the wonder she would feel, mused over being the man who would make her feel it.

But I shook the thought away and turned back to her book, fixing a smile on my face.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’ll have no trouble checking off the vast majority of this stuff. Some of it is doable sooner than later—kissing aside. Like this one: Eat hot dogs on the steps of The Met. That’s an easy one. Just make sure you go to Phyllis’s cart and not Enrique’s. I don’t trust his meat selection. Learning to ride a bike is a good one; you can rent bikes all over and walk them into Central Park. You’re not supposed to ride anywhere but the bike paths, but I think you could sneak a good session in, if you’re careful. Do it on the grass, that way, it’s better if you fall. Get a tattoo. I’ve got ins at a great shop. I can get you an appointment, if you want.”

Annie watched me, her embarrassment shifting into bubbling excitement.

I frowned. “What?”

“Greg, you’ve gotta help me. I mean, not with the kissing thing, of course,” she added hastily, her eyes catching mine. A rush of heat shot through me. “I don’t know anybody here who can help me figure this stuff out.”

“You sure you don’t want help with the kissing thing?” I said with a coolness I didn’t feel—my insides were on fire. “I might know a guy.”

She laughed and swatted at my arm. “I’m serious!”

So am I.

“Really,” she continued, “I bet you could show me the perfect place for a picnic in the park, and I bet you could tell me where to get the best pizza or help me figure out what Broadway show to go to.”

I drew a breath and let it out slow, considering. It was a bad idea—that much, I knew as well as I knew my name and our age difference. But I wanted to. I wanted to so bad, I almost said yes and ignored the rational voice in my brain, which happened to be yelling at me to run for cover.

“I dunno, Annie. I work a whole lot, and—”

She looked up at me, so small and pretty, her eyes opening wide, pupils dilating, lips in the sweetest pout I’d ever seen. “Greg, please? It would mean so much to me.”

And it was completely out of my power to say anything but yes.

She squealed when the word passed my lips, jumping up and down and then into my arms. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou.” But then she sagged against me and breathed a word. “Whoa.”

I hung on to her, my arms tightening, and when I stood all the way up, I took her with me, her feet dangling. “You okay?”

“Yeah…yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said gently and set her in the booth, my hands lingering on her arms just under her shoulders. “Let me get you a glass of water.”

She stayed me with a hand on my arm. “No, I’m okay. I’m okay. Come here and sit with me. You promised me a float, and I don’t want to have to call the manager over.”

I chuckled, still searching her face for signs of distress. The flush in her cheeks had washed away, leaving her skin and lips pale but smiling, and I gave her the concession, knowing she was embarrassed.

“All right,” I said as I slid in next to her, reaching for a bottle of root beer. “Now, let’s have a look at this list.”





7





Go On And Jump





Greg

I wish I could have asked myself why I was riding up Fifth that day toward The Met or how I’d gotten myself into the mess I was most certainly about to step in, but I couldn’t. I knew exactly how it had happened and when. And I knew what a bad idea it was. Maybe not the extent, but I knew I was setting myself up for heartbreak.

And somehow, I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d tried. Which I hadn’t.

We’d spent the rest of that evening in front of our root beer floats and Annie’s list, mapping out a day to cross a solid portion of things off—the easy stuff at least. For the next three days, we’d kept planning until Annie had an actual itinerary. Color-coded.

As suspected, it had required virtually no effort to convince Cam to let Annie stay, allowing her a hiatus when she had surgery and an invitation to come back to work when she was ready. And Annie’s mom had agreed to let her keep working, as long as we let her sit down whenever she needed.

It didn’t seem they were able to refuse Annie any more than I was, though I had been fully prepared to fight Cam tooth and nail to secure Annie’s job. I wanted to protect her, save her.