Page 65 of When There Was You
“I’ll show you, city girl,” he says with another big grin.
He hauls ass along a winding country road, and as we hit a section of rolling hills, my stomach swoops on the downstrokes. Bracing myself, I squeal and laugh with each undulation like a lunatic.
“Get it now?’ he shouts in between dips.
It’s like driving on cooked bacon, the crisped fat creating those staggered peaks and valleys. My smile doesn’t quit until we’re through miles of hilly roads.
He reaches a T and pauses at the stop sign with the idle purring. Damn, he’s a good driver.
“It’s like a rollercoaster,” I say, breathless.
He grins, eyes bright, and it’s a heady combination. He turns left, flying through the gears as we reach speeds I’m afraid to monitor. He eventually slows through a small town, pulling into a spot at a diner.
It’s the quintessential greasy spoon with a black-and-white checkered floor, red upholstered booths, and a counter lined with shiny metal stools. The type of place thatserves breakfast all day and employs waitresses who call you “hon.”
We snag an available booth, order, and get busy doctoring our coffees.
“I know almost zero about you,” I say.
He cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not a serial killer.”
“Whew, glad that’s cleared up. But can I really take your word for it?”
“I mean…we’ve got to assume lying is a prerequisite for that kind of proclivity.”
“At the very least.”
He blows on his coffee, those tempting lips distracting me, and takes a sip. “Ask away.”
My hands circle the mug as I wait for the liquid to cool. “Favorite color?”
“You’re starting with the hard stuff?” he teases.
“Just answer the question, smartass.”
He studies me, letting his eyes rove over my face. “Right now, it’s yellow. You?”
“Currently, I rather favor…” I prop my elbow on the table, lean my chin on my hand and meet his gaze straight on. “Green.” And I’m not lying. Butch’s eyes are captivating.
That elicits another of his slow, gorgeous smiles.
“How old are you?” I’m dying to know.
“Thirty.”
“Hmm…an older man.” My brow arches. “I just turned twenty-four.”
“I’m not exactly robbing the cradle.” Butch shifts in his seat, hanging one arm over the back of the booth.
“When’s your birthday?”
He casually lifts the cup to his lips, and I fixate on his throat working when he takes another sip. “January eighth.”
I can’t help my excited inhale. “That makes you a Capricorn. I’m a Virgo…our star signs are mega compatible.”
He gives me a dubious look before his expression turnsamused. “Let me guess. You read the Bedside Astrologer every year.”
My mouth drops. “You readCosmo?”
