“I changed clothes and everything. I’m taking you out.” He ushers me into the car.
Adam turns up the air conditioner to cool things off.
He adjusts the vents. “Is this all right? Not too cold on you?”
“Too cold? Oh, the air? No. This is fine. Thanks for asking.”
He brushes the back of my hand with his knuckle. “I’ll always ask.”
That’s the second time he’s done that.
I turn toward the window to hide. Adam’s ability to touch my heart with the smallest gestures may end up being my undoing. My nose twitches as the sting of tears pricks behind my eyes. I sniff and shake it off.
Just because Matt’s a selfish ass, it doesn’t mean all guys are. Obviously, Adam isn’t.
After a couple of minutes of silence, Adam grips the wheel tightly. “So. Your date? Wanna talk about it?”
“No.” I rub the sudden ache in the middle of my forehead. “Actually, yes. What the hell is wrong with people? Why do they have this inherent need to lie?”
“Lie?”
“Yes. Lie. Like your telling me you don’t like blow-jobs. Or the douche I met this evening who turned out to be the exact opposite of the way he described himself on his profile.”
Adam glances at me and adjusts himself as best he can while sitting behind the wheel.
I let out a sigh. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said blow-job. It set off your—your problem, didn’t it?”
“Beautiful Girl, that didn’t set anything off. I see you, I hear you, I think about you, and I get a woody. It’s just how it is. How it always probably will be.”
I massage my temples, my headache growing. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? Call you beautiful?”
“Don’t blow smoke up my ass. I’m a realist. I see myself in the mirror every day.”
Adam whips over two lanes of traffic, cutting off at least two cars, and comes to a halt at the side of the road.
“What are you doing?” I let go of my death grip on the oh-shit handle.
“I’ll decide what and who I find beautiful. How about that? And the very fact that you don’t know how beautiful you really are is a failing on the part of the guy or guys you’ve wasted your time on up to now.”
I want to reply, but the words dangle from my teeth and cling to my taste buds, refusing to leave my mouth. I snap my jaw shut and bite my lips into a tight line.
Adam reaches for my hand, but I draw it back.
Just keep this light. A dinner between two hungry people—not even real friends.
He moves back into the flow of traffic. “You don’t want me to touch you? Why?”
“No. I don’t want you to touch me. I want to find a good man, get married, write lots of smutty romances, and have more babies—and you don’t want any of that. So. There, Lothario, how you like them bananas?”
The light of the setting sun shines through his hazel eyes, giving them an otherworldly glow. He stares at me, smoothing his beard down over and over, as though deep in thought.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “What is it with all that facial hair anyway? I can’t even see your face. You’ve seen my most secret parts, and I don’t even know what you freaking look like.”
He grins and waggles his eyebrows. “I have seen your secret parts, haven’t I?”
My pussy twitches. I ignore it. “Yes, and I shave them…why don’t you try that on your face?”
In lieu of an answer he whips into the parking lot.
When we take our seats across from each other in the most secluded booth in the corner of the pizza place, the hostess hands us the menus and assures us that our waiter will be right with us.
Great. It would be the only available table.
Adam props his forearms on the edge of the table and leans forward. “So, what’s wrong with my beard?”
My head snaps up.
He stares at me, as though the meaning of the universe is going to fall from my lips.
I swallow hard. Is it going to hurt his feelings? Does it matter if it does?
I give him a half-shrug. “I can’t see your face. And I keep wondering what lives in that thing, what kind of germs and little critters must take up residence there.”
He sits back in his seat, casually nodding. “I see.”
“Look, I’m sorry. Beards have never been my thing. Like I said, I don’t even know what you look like. I just don’t get it. Do guys think it makes them manlier if they have a face full of hair? Is it supposed to be another way to compensate for a small dick? Because you have zero need to compensate for anything—seriously. And honestly, it kinda grosses me out.”
He leans in again, whispering, “It didn’t bother you when it was between your thighs.”