Down to You(21)

As Shawna would say, that sucks major ass!

“Did you solve it?”

Nash’s deep, heavenly voice interrupts my troubled thoughts.

“Solve what?”

“World hunger.”

I know I must be looking at him like he’s sprouted wings or a third eye. He looks from the road to me a couple of times before he starts laughing.

“Yes, in case it isn’t apparent at this point, I’m completely lost.”

“So it would appear,” he teases with a grin. “I just meant that you were thinking awfully hard. Is everything okay?”

I lean my head back against the padded leather headrest and I stare at Nash’s handsome profile. With his hair combed smoothly to the side, unlike his brother’s messed up ‘do, and his summer-tan skin, he looks like James Bond in his tux. And I fell victim to his charms as if he really were the dashing MI6 agent.

He’s got me shaken and stirred.

“You belong in a tux, you know that?” He frowns over at me, but smiles. I straighten my head and face the windshield. “Ohmigod, could I be any more random?”

What has gotten into you?

He chuckles. “Actually, I think the answer to that is ‘yes’.”

“You know me well, Bond.”

He chuckles again. “Bond? As in James Bond? Where did that come from?”

I turn my head to look at him again. Immediately it gets all fuzzy with hormones.

“Um, I was, uh, I was thinking about being shaken and stirred.” He looks over at me and quirks one brow. “I mean I was thinking how well you could probably shake and stir something.”

Ohmigod, somebody stop me!

“I mean, how well you could probably shake and stir a drink. Not me.” I snort.

Ohmigod, I just snorted!

“You were?” His mouth curves into a sexy grin. With that brow raised and those lips curled up at the corners, he looks exactly like his brother. Like the twins that they are.

I just stare at him, quite embarrassingly—again—for several seconds before my wits return and I begin to chastise myself.

What the hell is wrong with you? Why don’t you just have him pull over so you can climb into his lap?

FYI, that’s the wrong kind of thing to think in an effort to settle hot-and-bothered thoughts. That visual sends me into another brief catatonic state as I fantasize about riding in the driver’s seat of Nash’s car. With Nash still in it.

After several seconds, I remember that he’d said something. “Um what?” I ask, literally shaking my head to get back some focus.

Nash frowns. “Olivia, are you all right?”

I sigh and turn to face straight ahead again.

Note to self: Do not expect coherent thought to be possible when staring at Nash. Motor skills may be impaired as well. Take necessary precautions.

I almost snicker when I picture myself putting on a helmet, knee pads and a mouth guard every time Nash enters the room.

Then I think of what I could do in the knee pads…

Gahhhhh!

I’m pretty relieved when Nash slows and guides the car into the parking lot of the art gallery. Even though there are no appreciable signs indicating the nature of the establishment, I know that’s where we’re at. I googled it before we left so I’d know a little bit of what to expect. I’d hate to fall down some unforeseen stairs or something. I need zero help making a fool of myself in front of this guy.

As the valet pulls away from the curb in the BMW, Nash offers me his arm again and leads me into the gallery. My first impression as I look around at all the artificially tanned skin, medically enhanced figures and bottle-blond heads is that I’ve stumbled into Barbie’s mansion. Only the black and white version, as everyone is in black formal attire. But that’s not the only thing gone awry in this Barbie-fied alternate universe. There are no Kens! I see only nerdy, ugly or just plain old men on most of their arms. That’s when I realize this must be a trophy wife convention instead.

I look down at my own red-clad, curvaceous physique and then back up at the mostly monochromatic room. As I’m debating running for the exit, Nash leans down to whisper at my ear.

“Is something wrong?”

“I feel like the only splash of color in an abstract painting.”

“You are the splash of color. But there’s nothing wrong with that.”

I look at him. He’s smiling. It appears to be genuine. He doesn’t seem embarrassed by my appearance. I can only hope he’s not.

Mentally, I put on my big girl panties. If he’s not bothered, there’s no reason for me to be. Right? Right. I take a deep breath. “All right then. Let’s go.”

The further we make our way into the room, the more heads turn in our direction. Most of the men seem to be appreciative of my attire. But the women? Eh…not so much.