“I don’t need a babysitter, Jane,” he said, even as he held out a hand to help her up.
“And yet here I am,” she said, echoing his earlier refrain about the car as she took his hand—grudgingly, judging by how quickly she dropped it once she was upright.
He looked down at her shoes. She was wearing unremarkable beige flats. How was it possible that such boring shoes could make so much noise? He turned and headed for the rental car counters, counting the seconds until the clicks started up again.
She should have just gotten up at four a.m. and done the stupid flowers. If she had, she could be spray-painting tea sets gold for some unknown purpose right now. But the point was she would be spray-painting tea sets gold with her best friends. People who would never laugh at her as she lay sprawled on the dirty airport floor. People who appreciated her for who she was, even if who she was was the responsible, reliable one. Yep, if not for her own stupidity, she could be drinking Earl Grey right now, maybe getting a little high off paint fumes.
But no. Instead she was preparing to exit the airport parking garage in a royal blue Corvette convertible being driven by a jerk.
“Why is this car so noisy?” she shouted as he revved the engine.
“That, Jane, is not noise. That is the sound of a 6.2 liter, V-8, supercharged engine. That is the sound of freedom, Jane.”
God, the way he kept saying her name. Every sentence he directed at her had an extra “Jane” tacked onto it. It was a joke, Jane. You didn’t need to pick me up, Jane. Normal people didn’t do that. It was hard to say why, but it was patronizing somehow. Like he thought he was the big manly man, and she was the simple girl who needed everything explained.
But also…she liked his voice. She couldn’t help it. The fact that she did made her mad, but there it was. That is the sound of freedom, Jane. His voice was low and raspy, and he spoke almost with a southern drawl. Which was impossible because he was from Thunder Bay, Canada, for heaven’s sake. It was more that he spoke slowly—like if Matthew McConaughey moved north and lost ninety percent of his accent. He drew out syllables as if he had all the time in the world and was confident that whoever was listening to him did, too. The way he extended the long “a” in Jane made her name, which she’d always thought of as fussy and prim, sound almost sensual.
She didn’t like that he had that power. That he’d just taken it. Because she surely hadn’t given it to him.
He had paired his phone with the car’s Bluetooth system, and as they cruised out of the ramp, he pressed a button on the steering wheel and said, “Siri, directions to the closest Keg steakhouse,” naming a high-end local chain.
“We are not going to the Keg,” she said, trying to twist her ponytail into a bun to prevent her hair from becoming a rat’s nest as the wind picked up.
“I am going to the Keg. You don’t have to come.” He grabbed a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses from where they’d been perched on the collar of his T-shirt, slid them on, turned up the volume on the classic rock station he had playing, and gunned it, drowning out any reply she could have made.
She huffed a frustrated sigh he couldn’t hear and watched the terminal buildings whip by, followed by the high-rises and hotels surrounding the airport as they got on the highway and picked up speed. At least he was a competent driver. He was a very good driver, in fact. He drove fast but not recklessly so, and he changed lanes decisively but he always checked his mirrors. Every move he made seemed intentional and well executed.
Well, a little food couldn’t hurt. They had several hours to kill until Jay would get home from work anyway, and it would probably be easier to keep an eye on Cameron if he was eating. Inside. In an enclosed space. And he couldn’t talk while he was eating, right? Or maybe he could—he seemed like the kind of guy who thought of manners as optional.
Her stomach growled.
When the server—who looked amazingly like the pixie of his airport imaginings—brought their food, she winked at Cam. “Twenty-ounce rib steak, extra fries,” she said, setting down the enormous plate that held the meal of his airport imaginings. Dreams really did come true. He flashed her a smile, though he was a little surprised that a server at a place like this wouldn’t have the training to serve the lady at the table first. She’d tried to take his order before Jane’s, too, which struck him as flat out bad manners.
She plunked Jane’s meal down without taking her eyes from Cam. “Mixed greens with grilled chicken.”
Jane murmured her thanks.
“Can I get you anything else?” said the tiny waitress, who still hadn’t made eye contact with Jane.
“I think we’re fine, thanks,” he said.
“You sure you don’t need anything?”
There went Jane’s eyebrow. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t given some thought to the idea of trying to pick up the waitress. But what were they going to do? Make out by the Dumpster while Muddy Jane ate her salad? Nah, he’d wait until tonight. Hit a bar closer to Jay’s. Without his babysitter. “Yes, thanks,” he said, winking at the waitress. “But I’ll be sure to let you know if any…needs come up.” He was going to pass on the pixie, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy irritating Jane. Though he’d just met her, he knew, somehow, that she wouldn’t approve of his suggestive banter.
The eyebrow went higher. Bingo.
“So, Jane,” he said, picking up his steak knife and sawing into the glorious hunk of red meat on his plate as the waitress walked away. “You come to a steakhouse—an iconic Canadian steakhouse at that—and you order a salad with chicken? What’s up with that?”
“I’m trying to lose weight.”
He paused with his first bite halfway to his mouth. He hadn’t expected her to answer him so easily and honestly. “You don’t need to lose weight.” When she raised that censuring eyebrow again—he’d never met a person in real life who could raise only one eyebrow—he said, “What? You don’t.” He meant it. She wasn’t thin, no, but everything about her seemed like it was where it was supposed to be, relative to everything else. She looked like she belonged in the kind of body she had.
She considered him for a long time, like she was trying to decide how to respond. “I may have been a little ambitious when I ordered my bridesmaid’s dress,” she finally said, rolling her eyes as if disgusted with herself, then transferring her attention to her plate and setting to work slicing the chicken breast on her salad into smaller pieces. “Its ability to zip up is going to depend on my caloric intake over the next week and a half.”
She reminded him of Christie that way. She had also always been vowing to shed pounds she didn’t particularly need to lose. “Why do women do that? Why not get a dress that actually fits?”
“I really, really, wanted to be a size ten. I guess I thought standing in front of three hundred people in a five-hundred-dollar dress would be good incentive.” She sighed. “The problem is I really, really like eating.”
“So you’re an eleven. Whatever.”
“Twelve. Sizes go in twos.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea.”
He shrugged and resumed delivering his first bite of meat to his mouth. “Oh my God,” he groaned. It was almost orgasmic the way goose bumps rose on his arms and his tongue ignited with pleasure. He sawed off another, bigger bite of the gorgeously bloody meat. Nothing was going to be as good as that first bite, but…oh, fuck it was as good. Months of mess tent glop—or worse, freeze-dried field rations—had put his taste buds into lockdown. But now. This was a million times better than he had remembered. Maybe the premature end of his army career wasn’t going to be all bad.
But, no, this was hollow comfort. He would give up steak forever if it meant not having the only thing he was ever good at taken away from him.
He shook his head. He’d never been one to dwell on could-have-beens. What he had now was steak. Damn good steak. He took another bite and sighed.
Jane cleared her throat.
Right. He’d forgotten for a moment that he and steak had an audience for their little reunion . Jane looked like she was trying not to laugh. But at the moment, he didn’t care—his meal was too delicious.
He couldn’t help wondering if sex was going to be this good, too, once he finally had it again.
Tonight. He’d find out tonight. See? Upside. The army was lost to him, his hopes of becoming an officer dashed, but it was going to be a lot easier to get laid back home. He sawed off a piece of steak and plopped it onto Jane’s plate. “You have to try this.”
“I can’t, I—”
“Eat it.”
“I don’t generally like my steak so rare. When I do eat steak, I—”
“Eat,” he commanded, raising his voice a little.
She ate.
He’d give it three seconds. Just like her footsteps at the airport earlier—click-click-click.
“Oh my God.”
There it was. He smirked as her eyes slipped closed in ecstasy. Her hair was kind of messed up. Her ponytail had suffered some collateral damage in its battle with the convertible. It wasn’t a bad look on her, and with her eyes closing on that low moan…well, he was really looking forward to ditching her and getting on with his return-to-civilian-life list.