Holy Hell, if I was this much of a mess before I saw him I was worried I’d self-combust in his actual presence.
The soft knock at the door jerked me back to reality. Adrenalin shot through my veins. I jumped up and ran to the front door, took two deep breaths and opened it.
Hayden stood in the doorway, hands in his jean pockets wearing a faded green t-shirt that made his eyes appear more emerald than the jewel. His beauty stole my breath and I was grateful I had the door to hold me up.
“Hi Dixie." He smiled and I melted. “You look beautiful.”
My voice decided to take a vacation. I stood there and mutely stared at him.
He chuckled and extended his hand. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I whispered. Hades, I sounded like a baby. I cleared my throat. "Yes, I’m ready. Do you think I’ll need a jacket?” I asked, trying to behave like a rational, mature twenty-one year old woman.
“I’ve got one in the truck if you get cold.” He nodded to his big black pickup truck.
Dang, I love pickup trucks. Was there anything I was going to discover about this guy I didn’t like? I somehow doubted it. He took my hand and a tingle shot up my arm.
“Did you feel that?” I gasped.
“Yep.” He held my hand tighter so I couldn’t pull away.
“What was that?”
“Not sure, but I like it a lot.” He grinned and pulled me along.
I giggled and followed him to the truck.
The interior was black, buttery custom leather and the truck smelled like him. I took a deep breath to commit his scent to memory. If I kept acting like an ass, I feared this would be my one and only date with him. I needed to remember every detail.
He got in the truck. I kept my eyes glued straight ahead, afraid if I glanced at him I would say something stupid like “I love you.” I waited for the engine to rev up, but nothing happened. I felt his gaze on me. It made me both happy and uncomfortable.
I peeked over at him. “Is everything okay?”
“Yep,” he replied.
“Is the truck. . .um, broken?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Oh, okay.”
He continued to stare.
Did he change his mind about the date? I felt sick. Should I get out and go back inside? Should I say thank you and shake his hand before I get out? Stella would know what to do. Maybe I should ask him questions about himself. I was a little unsure about putting my dating skills into the hands of Cosmo magazine, but I certainly wasn't doing well with my own skill set. I didn’t have any freakin’ skills. Questions. I’d ask him questions.
I plastered a smile on my face and turned my body toward his to start my interrogation. I opened my mouth to speak, but the intensity of his stare rendered me speechless.
“I love looking at you.” His voice was smokey and my heart lurched.
“You do?” The dreaded heat began to crawl up my neck.
“I do,” he said. “You make me feel happy and strange and nervous and excited.”
My wildly beating heart was the only thing I could hear. This could go one of two ways—I could laugh and act like he made a great joke or I could be honest.
“You make me feel all those things too,” I said softly. My eyes dropped to his mouth.
“You scare the Hell out of me, Dixie, in the best way possible.”
His breath smelled delicious and it took everything I had not to slam him against the door to taste him. “You scare me too, so we’re even.”
He exhaled an overly dramatic sigh. “Well, now that we got that out of the way, we can relax and have a great time. Okay?” His eyes were full of amusement as they searched mine.
“Okay,” I agreed. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
***
The drive took about forty-five minutes down winding roads I’d never traveled before. My voice came back with a vengeance. Thankfully it was mutual. I kept forgetting how handsome he was because he was so smart and funny. We talked about movies, books, music, school, drunk teachers and how the Underworld was the greatest place in the universe.#p#分页标题#e#
I told him how Ernest Hemingway scared the Hell out of me when I was five by describing bullfighting in graphic bloody detail. Of course Hemingway resided in Heaven but was quite fond of the atmosphere in Hell. Satan and Hemingway were known to go at each other with gusto and pitcher after pitcher of mojitos with the occasional Cuban cigar thrown in. Hayden sheepishly informed me that Gone With the Wind was one of his all time favorites, so I let him off the hook by professing my love for Barry Manilow.
We argued theology and laughed about the mortals’ obsession with Vampyres. I giggled so hard I snorted when he imitated movie scenes depicting Demons. Rosemary’s Baby and The Exorcist were the best. My snort made him laugh so hard he had to pull over. I felt my face grow hot, but my embarrassment disappeared as he swore to me it was cute and begged me to do it again. I refused, called him an asswipe and punched him in the arm, which only made him laugh harder.