Page 9 of Good For Me

River

Don’t fuck this up.

I have a feeling I’m going to be repeating that mantra to myself for however long this night lasts.Don’t fuck this up, River.Not the easiest directive for a long-established fuck-up like me, but I’m going to do my best.

Because the girl of my dreams has agreed to actually spend time with me tonight. She’s currently sitting right next to me, filling my Jeep with the tantalizing scent of vanilla—her shampoo, I think. If ever there was a cause for getting my shit together, it’s this.

I would be more excited about the prospect if Jas wasn’t having such an awful night. I could kick that pretentious bastard’s ass for making her sad. On her birthday. Who the hell does that?

But there had been something else there, in her sad eyes. Something more. It isn’t just the cheating accountant that hurt her tonight. Whatever pain Jasmine is trying to cover is something that runs much deeper than a guy she doesn’t actually seem to care all that much about.

As much as I want to spend time with her, tonight isn’t really about that. Or at least it isn’tentirelyabout that. The thought of her spending her birthday sad and working was just too much. That girl deserves a good night and I’m really fucking happy I get to be the guy that tries to give it to her.

“Can I change the station?” she asks.

I look over at her. “You don’t like the Stones?”

She makes a little scoffing noise. “Well, the last I checked, the Rolling Stones are classic rock. So no, I don’t like them.”

I gasp dramatically—and it’s only partially a joke. “You don’t like classic rock? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I have taste,” she says smugly, and damn, she’s cute.

“You’re killing me, you know that, right?”

She turns to me, and even in the dark interior I can see her eyes widen. “Why? Do you have, like, some sort of connection with rock music?”

“Hilarious,” I mutter, but somehow, I don’t feel anywhere near as annoyed as I do when most other people hint about my dad’s band. Maybe it’s her teasing tone or maybe it’s just that it’s Jas, but I’d bet my favorite surfboard that this woman doesn’t give a shit who my family is.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” she says, reaching toward the radio.

“Okay, so tell me. If classic rock is so awful, what do you listen to?”

“This,” she says happily, turning the volume up on her choice. I listen for three seconds before I burst into laughter.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” she asks.

“You listen to techno? I never would have guessed. What about your boots?”

“First off, this isn’t techno. It’s dubstep. And what’s wrong with my boots?”

“Not a thing.” Besides for the fact that they’re insanely sexy and turn me into an incoherent mess every time I catch sight of them—especially under her prim and proper suits. “I just took you for more of a punk rock girl. Black combat boots don’t exactly scream EDM. Aren’t you supposed to be decked out in rainbows and glitter?”

I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Not everyone who likes this music dresses the same way, River.” She’s quiet for a second. “Besides, my boots aren’t straight black. They’re iridescent.”

“In other words, they sparkle under flashing neon rave lights.”

“They don’t sparkle,” she says seriously. “Theyshimmer.”

I bark out another laugh. “They go nicely with the suits.”

She sighs. “I could never make myself give them up.”

“So you weren’t always a pant suit type of girl?”

It’s her turn to burst into laughter. “Oh, God, no. I was a complete wild child.”