Page 52 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
We both fell silent. Tension swirled on the air. I was close enough that I could close the distance between our mouths in one second and taste those lips.
She crossed her arms and fell back against the door. It was like she read my mind and needed space between us. “Why are you still sitting in my car?” Her voice was whisper-soft and tinged with something indecipherable. Maybe desperation. Maybe longing.
“In case you didn’t notice, I’m trying to flirt with you. Normally I’m better at it. But you won’t even give me your phone number, so there’s that.”
She shook her head slowly, like I was wearing her down. “My mom also has a drinking problem . . . drugs,” she said weakly. “She’s been in and out of jail a few times.”
She watched me, still waiting for me to run. I lifted my hand from the back of her seat. I couldn’t stop myself. I had to risk it. I had to touch her. I had to see if her hair was as soft as it looked. My fingers threaded in the dark sleekness. Each strand flowed like water over my fingers. “Still not working.”
I was enjoying myself now. The way her blue eyes flashed in annoyance fascinated me. I never had a problem getting girls. Yeah, I lost Pepper, but I think she was already in love with Reece before we even had our first real date. I’d seen them together and it was like I was witnessing something private . . . like I wasn’t even there. Like no one else was. I just let her convince me there was nothing between them. Until, of course, she admitted there was.
Generally, girls liked me. They flirted. They watched me with a hunger that was partly due to my looks and partly because I came from money. I’d fooled around with my share since I split with Paige. And never had a girl told me a flat-out no before. It turned me on. Brooke turned me on. But as much as she turned me on . . . I just wanted to hear yes on her lips. If possible, that would turn me on even more.
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and something tightened in my gut. “You don’t want—”
“I think I know what I want.” I pointed across the street to the IHOP where Cody and I had nursed many a hangover. “Pancakes.”
The idea just came to me. It meant more time with her. Delaying good-bye. All I knew was that I didn’t want to say good-bye. Not yet. The idea of getting out of this car and never seeing her again gave me a sharp pang in the chest.
She looked across the street and back to me. “Pancakes?”
“What? You don’t like pancakes?” I asked, still stroking her hair. “You’re killing me, woman.”
She smiled. Grudgingly, but it was there. “Yes, I like pancakes.”
“There’s nothing like pancakes at”—I glanced at the clock—“eleven thirty-eight at night.”
She hesitated and then nodded just once. “Okay. Just pancakes. You’re still not getting my number though.”
Brooke
HOW I ENDED up eating pancakes with a too-hot-to-believe-guy who was clearly out of my league eluded me. I kept seeing him in that moment he hauled off and punched that jerk who grabbed me. He was everything a girl dreamed of—beautiful and good and smart. He was the prince that rode in to save the princess. A princess. Which I was not.
With this in my mind, it was actually easy to look at him clinically. To appreciate him sitting across from me with a calm sort of detachment—because there was no way our lives would ever collide beyond this moment right now.
He was going to be a doctor. If I was lucky, I’d finish college and get a job with good benefits. That was the extent of my dream. And it was big enough. God, it was the size of California—and about as difficult for me to ever reach. A secure job with benefits. A place of my own. Money to help Chelsey like she had helped me all these years. She shouldn’t be the only one worried about coming up with the cash to bail Mom out of jail.
Since he was paying—he’d made that much clear—I ordered chocolate chip pancakes, sausage, hash browns, and large orange juice. We were like camels. Mom, Chelsey, and me. We never knew when we’d get a good meal—something other ramen noodles—so we stocked up on those rare occasions.
Hunter watched me as I ate. In that unnerving, consuming way of his. It almost made me not want to eat quite so zealously, but my hunger won out.
The staring was worse than before though. This wasn’t the dim interior of my car. The bright fluorescent light of the restaurant hid nothing. Not his artfully messy brown hair shot with gold highlights. Not his warm brown eyes. The square-cut jaw. The deep dimple in his right cheek. He belonged on a CW show.
He really was beautiful. And charming. And heroic—he had already proved that. Despite all my protesting, I was tempted to give him my number. And then sanity asserted itself.
Guys like him didn’t call girls like me. It was just awkward in that moment he was saying good-bye. That must be why he asked. He didn’t really mean it. There was
no extending our relationship beyond tonight. I knew that. He didn’t need to be such a gentleman and act like he didn’t know it, too.
“Where do you put it?” he asked, lowering his cup of coffee to the table. He sat with one arm stretched along the back of the booth. The pose stretched his charcoal-colored sweater across his broad chest. The fabric was smooth-looking and hinted at a sculpted chest.
I shrugged and took a drink. “Never know when you’re getting your next meal.”
I regretted it the moment I uttered the words. It sounded pathetic, and he looked stunned. I lowered my gaze and quickly cut into a link of sausage even as I felt his stare eating me up. His deep voice rumbled across the air. “You don’t know when you’ll get your next meal?”
I gave a wincing smile. “I eat.”
“As in every meal?”
