I Want You Back (Want You #1)(14)

Yes, there had been a time when we rocked at conflict resolution—even if we’d had to rock the bed frame or the couch or the kitchen table to finish it out.

“I think about that too,” Jax said softly, interrupting my thoughts.

My face and neck were hot when I looked at him.

“So, umm . . . yeah. I’ll get started on cleanup.” And he walked away.



* * *



? ? ?

Mimi crashed in the back seat of the car on the way home after the party.

Given her tendency to be crabby when getting woken up, I decided to go for a drive and let her sleep. It’d give me an opportunity to view the autumn colors exploding in reds, rusts and golds along the banks of the Mississippi River and to the farmlands, orchards and valleys outside of the metro area.

Who was I kidding? My brain would be replaying my conversation with Jaxson as well as that unexpected kiss.

Which was completely unlike the first time Jax and I kissed, when it was all about the tease and a challenge to test which one of us would succumb first . . .



* * *



? ? ?

    After issuing the second date challenge, I was ninety-nine point nine percent sure that this Jaxson guy wouldn’t show. I wouldn’t have put it past him to be one of those guys who collected moments. Flirting and conversation with a woman he met in a car wash, sharing an intimate, yet bizarre dinner, but keeping the promise of more that would always only be that: what might’ve been.

And I couldn’t fault him. How often had the reality of someone paled in comparison to the fantasy we’d built up?

I had a surprisingly giddy feeling, seeing him in the parking lot of Pizza Lucé, leaning against his car, looking the epitome of cool in his wraparound shades, dressed head to toe in black clothing.

I’d barely opened my car door before he was there, offering me a helping hand out and admitting, “I figured you’d blow me off.”

“Our minds were on the same wavelength then; I pegged you for a no-show.” Standing in front of him, the top of my head didn’t even touch his chin. I’d worn flats and jeans, a lightweight thermal shirt covered in cabbage roses and a nylon jacket the neon color of a hothouse hibiscus. Wouldn’t want him to think I was trying to impress him, so I went to the other extreme.

“You look . . . springy,” he said.

“You look like a thug,” I returned. “Although, if you donned an eye patch you could totally pull off the pirate look.”

“Argh, me sees no humor in that, lassie.”

I laughed. “So, Mr. Thug Life, what are we doing tonight with you wearing that getup? A little cat burglarizing? Reciting bad poetry in a beatnik club?”

“Hey, I don’t look that much like a hipster or a criminal. I’ve got a scarf in the car that’ll add a pop of color if need be.”

“Pop of color? Dude.”

“It’s not a phrase I normally use, trust me. I heard it from my brother, Nolan, who is an unapologetic male fashionista.”

He admitted that almost with . . . pride. “He chose that ensemble for you?”

“God no. If he saw me wearing this he’d harass me endlessly until I changed into something ‘worthy of my station.’”

As soon as he’d said that part, he realized he’d revealed too much.

Hmm. So Jaxson Whoever-he-was had a station in life? That didn’t help me decipher who he was since I’d already established that the man had money. Still, I couldn’t let his slip slide. I cocked an eyebrow. “Station in life? Does that mean you drive a choo choo train?”

He grinned. “Whoo-whoo . . . nope.”

“Ah. I get it. You’re a radio jock. What station is it you command? I doubt it’s easy listening. Given your clothing choice . . . rap?”

“Hilarious.” His gaze moved over me from head to toe. “And you obviously assumed I’d be taking you to a fussy teahouse in a wind tunnel since you dressed for that type of outing.”

I bristled at his accurate assessment of my matronly clothing. “Touché.”

“Are we going on this date or what?”

“Yes. But before I get into the car with you, should I snap a picture of your license plate and send it to my sister so if you’re a psycho Lindsey knows who to accuse of kidnapping and possible dismemberment?”

“Jesus, Lucy Q. I’m not a psycho killer.”

“Okay. Speaking of Jesus . . . you’re not like . . . a priest or something? On sabbatical and disavowing your celibacy for kicks for a few weeks?”

“Not . . . even . . . close to priestlike behavior.” Then he flashed a sexy, devilish grin that gave me tingles. “Now will you walk those beautiful legs around the other side of my car and climb in?”

Didn’t have to ask me twice.

Inside the fancy car, with its immaculate interior and new car scent, rap music played in the background. At least I’d gotten that much about him right. “Where are we going, Jaxson?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Will people at this place know who you are?”

“Hoping for a hint before we decide when we’re doing the big ‘last name’ reveal?”

I shrugged. “I suck at guessing games. Actually I’m not good at any kind of games. Video games, board games, games of chance.”