Toxic (Ruin, #2)(34)

“Hmm,” Gabe whispered and looked down at our hands. “The perfect fit.”
I smiled. “Yeah, it appears so.”
“She calls me Parker…” He averted his gaze to the ground and squeezed my hand tighter. I held my breath, my heart pounding like crazy. “…because after her accident, that was the only part of my name she remembered. It’s still part of my full name, but not my first name.”
“Because your first name is Gabe,” I said. “Right?”
“Do you like fish?”
“Huh?”
Gabe released my hand and laughed. “Come on, either you like fish or you don’t.” His eyes were teasing as he bit down on his lip and crossed his arms. “I’m going to take you for fish.”
“Uh, as in we’re going fishing, or we’re buying a goldfish?”
Gabe shrugged and flashed me the same smile I’d been craving for two weeks. “Neither. Now, let’s go.”



Chapter Twenty-Three
I think… I was letting her in. Is what that felt like? To talk to someone and have them actually get it? I mean I was as honest as I could be and she didn’t freak out, call me crazy, try to kiss me, shout my name, though I wouldn’t be against the shouting, she just… listened. I liked it. —Gabe H.
Gabe
“Where are we?” Saylor asked, getting out of the car. It was one of the rare days that I’d actually driven my car.
A car that even Wes hadn’t sat in before.
I usually let Lisa drive it around when she needed it, but for some reason, it was one of those days and I’d decided to use it instead of my bike.
Saylor hadn’t said much when I told her to get in.
Though I had to admit a bit of pride when her innocent eyes took in my BMW coupe.
“Anthony’s,” I answered. “My favorite restaurant. I said fish, didn’t I?”
Saylor froze. “But, Gabe, my clothes. I’m not exactly dressed for—”
“You look perfect.” I shrugged. “Besides, who cares?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Do we really need to rehash that conversation?”
“I was pissed.” I looked away, shame washing over me. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
“How do you get so many girls?” Saylor asked.
I stumbled a bit. “Sorry, what?”
“No.” She smiled. “I’m dead serious. You are seriously the worst smooth talker I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”
“False.” I snickered. “I could charm the dress off a nun — I just choose not to when I’m around you.”
Her face fell.
“Shit.” I wiped my face with my hands. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”
Yeah, or she was going to impale me on the sharp side of the swordfish decorating the wall.
“With you…” I said, sighing. “I can just be me.”
“A non-smooth talking jackass with shifty eyes?” she asked dryly.
I winced. “Ouch. You beat all your dates beyond recognition, or is it just me?”
“Just you.” Her smile was wide. God, I’d forgotten about that mouth of hers. And officially looking at anything but her mouth.
My eyes lowered to her chin. Perfect. There was nothing attractive about chins. Except they were attached to mouths and, well, hell, right back where I started.
“Can I help you?” The hostess asked.
“Two for dinner.” I didn’t take my eyes off Saylor. I should have. But I didn’t want to, and it was a day of not wanting to do the things I’d been doing for four freaking years.
So I continued staring.
I was probably going to get slapped soon but whatever.
The hostess handed us menus and filled our water glasses.
Saylor took one look at her menu, slammed it closed, and paled. “Gabe, we don’t need to eat here. The fish… it’s like, really expensive and you’re a college student and—”
“It’s fine.” I fought the urge to laugh out loud. I couldn’t spend all my money even if I wanted to. “Trust me.”
Her eyes narrowed. She crooked her finger for me to lean in.
“Do you sell drugs?”
“Holy shit!” I burst out laughing. “No! What the hell? Why would you think I sold drugs?”
She winced. “Mood swings, nice car, money, er, yeah, I’m just going to disappear under the table now.”
“I would love—” I accentuated the word love. “—to see what trouble you could get into under the table.”
“Ah-ha!” She pointed her fork at me.
I shoved it to the side.
“There you go again!”
“Go? I’m right here.”
“No.” She set the fork down and picked up her knife. To be safe I leaned back. “You do this all the time.”
“And by all the time you mean like in the last few times you’ve met me?”
“Don’t be an ass,” she muttered.
“You say ass funny, like you’re embarrassed you’re saying it.”
“Ass.” This time it was loud, unapologetic, hot as hell. “Better?”
“Yeah,” I croaked, felt it too.
“And don’t try to get me off topic. You do that too.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.” I lifted my napkin to my forehead and patted. I was officially sweating. It was like we were on Law and Order and I was on the bad side of the metal desk. Sitting in a metal chair. Balls to the metal. Wincing.
“One minute you’re charming anything with a pulse, the next minute you look so angry you want to set me on fire, and then all of a sudden it’s like you snap out of it.”