She reminds me of—
Behind me, the girls break my train of thought as they argue and hash out a quick game of rock paper scissors to see who gets to sit up front with me. Exasperated with their antics, I glance back at them and sigh, then turn to Four Dragons. Courtesy demands I offer help. It didn’t demand I give her a package of cookies, though. Maybe part of me wanted to annoy her. I saw her staring at us when we walked in, felt the way she dissected us. I know what she thinks—that I’m a guy with women all over me. This is true, but these girls are not by choice.
“You need a ride?” I ask gruffly.
“I’d call an Uber, but I don’t…” She stops and shadows flit over her face, worry tightening her eyes.
She doesn’t have the money for an Uber. Her Toyota is old, and there’s a dent in the bumper. She winced when she paid for her groceries.
“Hey, Babycakes,” Ashley calls from behind me. “You coming? I won and get to ride up front with you, wahoo! Can we listen to my songs? I have a playlist—”
“Sure, sweetheart, whatever,” I call back, cutting her off, barely listening because Four Dragons has swiped up her bags from the car and is marching across the parking lot. I hear the clinking of the beer bottles as they bounce against each other.
“Hey!” I shout at her back. “Where are you going?”
“Walking home, duh,” she says as I jog up next to her.
“Can’t you call someone? A friend?”
“I know how to take care of myself.” She throws her chin in the air—so proud—and picks up her pace, but she’s no match for my long legs.
“You’re running from me like you’re scared. Are you?”
“No, Damon, I’m not. You annoy me. You refused to hand over just one package of Oreos because I wasn’t attractive enough for you.”
“I never said you weren’t attractive!”
“It was on your face.”
“No, it wasn’t. Look, let me call you an Uber.”
“I don’t want an Uber, thank you.”
“I just want to help.” I’m worried about her. She’s barely holding on to all those bags.
We’ve reached the edge of the parking lot and she’s about to step onto the sidewalk. A big truck roars past us on the road a few feet away, and my gut clamors for her to stop, protective instincts flaring. “Come on, let’s put aside the fact that we don’t like each other. Since you don’t want the Uber, let me give you a ride.”
“I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m Dillon McQueen, the quarterback for the Tigers. I promise, you know me.”
Her brows arch. “Um, never heard of you.”
I take my cap off and rub at my disheveled hair as I laugh. Sure, sure. Keep saying that…
“You’ll have to skirt around a few bars and dark alleys, and you’re on your own with all those bags.”
She inhales the humid night air, making her chest rise. She’s maybe a B cup, but it’s hard to tell in that loose shirt. My eyes linger there, watching as she breathes.
I can see the wheels in her mind turning, debating as she flicks her eyes down the darkened busy street, taking in the multiple red lights, and then back to me, her top teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“You think I’m a jerk,” I say as I shrug, trying to be nonchalant and non-threatening. “I’m not, you know. I help old ladies cross the street, volunteer at the local schools. Cats like me, and they’re finicky. Not gonna kidnap you. Plus, my posse is with me. You’re fine.”
“Posse…ugh.” She scrunches her nose up. “And?”
“You want more?”
“Please. I want to hear all about how awesome you are.”
I squint my eyes. She is infuriating. Why am I still talking to her?
Several moments pass as she searches my face, and then she looks back at her car, uncertainty on her face. “Alright, you convinced me. I live off Highland on Burgundy Street, if it’s not too much trouble? Thank you.”
“Cool. Driving past there anyway.” Not on the way at all.
“You love it that you have the upper hand now, don’t you?”
I huff under my breath. She thinks I have the upper hand? Holy… She ran circles around me in the Piggly Wiggly, and now I’m chasing her across a parking lot?
“Right.” I tuck my hands in the pockets of my pants—and her gaze follows, as if she can’t help it, lingering on my crotch. I smirk.
The streetlight illuminates one half of her face, devoid of makeup, a smattering of freckles dotting her dainty nose. Our eyes cling, and I’m aware of the moon coming out from behind the clouds above us, illuminating the hue of her eyes.
“Champagne,” I murmur.
A frown puckers her brow. “What?”
I’m silent, just taking in the long lashes behind those glasses. My fingers itch to rip that ugly hat off her head. I want a good look at her.
Her shoulders rise and fall. “Stop staring.”
“You’re staring at me.”
Her lips twitch, barely. “We sound like toddlers.”
“It’s your fault.”
“No, it’s yours.” She dips her head, as if hiding a smile, then glances back up at me and I’m snared. I can’t see much of her, one high cheekbone, a pointy chin, the pulse at her throat…
Cars whiz past and moments tick by, me looking at her, her looking back. A buzzing sensation runs over my body—
One of the girls, probably Ashley, blows the horn on the Escalade.
I let out a groan of frustration. “Dammit!”
“Your posse is waiting.” She whips around and heads to my car.
4
“You girls want a beer?” she says from the back seat a few minutes later as I pull out of the parking lot. I watch Four Dragons in the mirror as she looks over at her seatmates, Chantal and Bambi. They got chummy before I even got to
