In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(40)

Rex regards me, frowning slightly.

“Well, here’s how it goes,” he says. “I’m going to take you to breakfast. Then we’re going to jump your car. Then I’m going to ask you out on a date. Are you free Thursday night?”

“I thought asking me out on a date was going to come after jumping my car?”

“Just getting my ducks in a row,” he says, and squeezes my shoulder. “What do you say, dinner on Thursday night?”

I nod and take a deep breath. I can do this, right? It’s just dinner.




“I CAN’T do this,” I tell Ginger.

It’s late and I should be in bed, but I’ve missed a dozen calls from her since Sunday, no doubt wanting to know how my night with Rex went, so I picked up when she called.

“Dandelion!” she says. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out. Can’t do what?”

“I’m supposed to meet Rex for dinner tomorrow,” I tell her. “And it’s definitely a date.”

“No, no, no,” she says, irritated. “You don’t get to skip right to the telling me your problems part. You have to start with something like, ‘Oh, Ginger, let me tell you all about my date instead of ignoring your calls for four days,’ or, ‘Ginger, let me tell you how good the lumberjack is in bed.’ Got it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Excellent. So, how was your date on Saturday night?”

“It was good.”

“Seriously? That’s what I get from you?”

“Do you think I’m a pessimist?” I ask her, staring at the pile of papers I’m only halfway through grading.

“Yes,” she says. “Well, I think you’re a pessimist where you’re concerned. You tend to be pretty realistic about other people’s shit. Why? Did he tell you you’re a pessimist? Because you know how I feel about dudes who tell you who you are on a first date. Control freak abusers.”

“No, he didn’t say anything about it. I just—I keep doing this thing where I think a nice thought about Rex and then my brain thinks, like, ‘It’s never going to work.’”

“Well, sweetie, that voice in your head is the same one that said you could never go to college. It’s the same one that told you not to bother applying to grad school because they’d never want you. It’s the same one that told you all the other students thought you were stupid when you first started.”

“They did think I was stupid when I started.”

“Well, they were * snobs. And, anyway, you proved to them it wasn’t true. So you just have to prove it to this voice too.”

“I don’t know how to do this. What do I talk about? What if we actually hate each other?”

“Um, Daniel. You don’t hate each other. You had a date the other night and, even though you apparently refuse to tell me about it, it went well enough that you’re having another one tomorrow. And I know you didn’t ask him, so he must have liked you enough that he at least wants to see you again.”

“I could have been the one to ask him,” I grumble.

“Um, sure, pumpkin; whatever you say.” She pauses, then her voice changes. “Come oooooon, please tell me about the date?”

“He rescued me from a snowstorm and cooked me dinner and I spent the night, and then he took me out to breakfast. And he said he used to be really shy, but I totally didn’t get that from him until breakfast when we went to the diner and he was really tongue-tied ordering. It was kinda sweet.”

“It’s October.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“How was there a snowstorm in October?”

“Right! Michigan, man. Fucking Michigan.”

“Oh. Right. So, wow, you spent the night? Were you drunk?”

“No. Bitch.”

“Hunh,” she says, like that explained something. “Okay, so how was it? The sex, I mean, obviously.”

“Dude, it was really good. He’s… I dunno, magnetic or something.”

She’s quiet for a while and my mind drifts to Rex’s big hands on me. The way he pulled me close to him in the shower after I told him I’d have dinner with him, his strong hips flexing into mine, our erections sliding together in the steamy heat. The way he grabbed my ass, grinding us together, his chest hair scraping my nipples. The way he bit down on my throat like I was a kitten trying to wander away, and pulled me up into him, hard. The way he kissed me, tongue everywhere, hands everywhere, our cocks straining together until we both grabbed them at the same time, jerking white heat on our stomachs and chests and leaning against each other as the water washed it all away.

“Earth to Daniel,” Ginger is nearly shouting into the phone.

“What!”

“Oh my god, you’re thinking about having sex with him right now.”

“Guilty,” I laugh.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” she says.

“What?”

“Sweet cheeks, you’ve f*cked the lead singers of bands on international tours and never said anything more than, ‘He looked taller onstage,’ or, ‘Yeah, nice guy.’ If you’re sitting there right now fantasizing about sex you had with the lumberjack to the point where you don’t hear me yelling your name, then I know it was hot. God, I’m so jealous. I want a lumberjack.”