Truth or Beard(33)

“Yes?” Her voice was weak.

I cupped her jaw and cheeks, forcing her to look at me and leaving smudges on her skin. “In case you haven’t caught on yet, I’d like to take you out.”

She lifted her hands, covered one of mine and held on to the wrist of the other. I was happy to see some of the rising panic recede as I continued. “I want to go to a place that serves food, where neither of us have to do the clean up or the dishes, and talk to you.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t care, I honestly don’t. As long as I’m talking to you.”

This won me a quick smile and it went a long way toward easing my cold doubt. She bit her lip, chewed on it, her big brown eyes even bigger than normal. Then she nodded.

And I finally breathed, releasing her. “Good.”

She nodded again, her eyes lighting up, her pretty mouth slanting with a roundabout smile. “Good,” she repeated, then pressed her lips to mine for a fast kiss. “This is good.”

I nodded too, her sudden happiness like aloe to a sunburn, and then proclaimed the understatement of the century. “I’m glad.”

“Okay then, it’s a date. Duane Winston and Jessica James are going on a date.”

I laughed because she was too adorable, and her words solidified something I’d wanted for years; finally the angry hard-on in my boxers didn’t feel so pointless.

“Yes. That’s what’s happening.” I rubbed my nose along hers, gave her another soft kiss. “The only question is when and where?”

“Oh…” Her gaze turned hazy, unfocused, and drifted over my shoulder. “I could pack a picnic for Saturday afternoon.”

I thought about that, about not seeing her the rest of this week. I decided it was probably too soon to say I’d miss her if I didn’t see her between now and Saturday.

“Saturday is good. Let’s do Saturday,” I said. “And I’ll pack the picnic.” I’d been thinking about this for a long time and I’d decided years ago that—if I ever got the chance—I’d take her out proper, pay for dinner—even if it was a picnic.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“Fine. Let me bring drinks at least.” Her hand sought mine, entwined our fingers, and squeezed.

The simple movement and connection was dizzying, and it caught me off guard. I opened my mouth to respond but found I’d forgotten what she’d just said.

Her eyes flickered between mine, her small smile still in place. Obviously she mistook my speechlessness because she soothed, “Don’t worry, I know you prefer Guinness to Budweiser.” Then she dropped her voice to a sweet whisper and leaned a bit closer. “Your secret is safe with me.”

***

I grinned at Jessica James’s backside as she walked away because she had a big old brown grease stain on the left side of her skirt where I’d palmed her ass.

“Damn, Duane, you got big hands.” Cletus sauntered up next to me, wiping his own hands on a rag.

My grin became a frown and I shot my brother a look. “Don’t be looking at Jess’s ass.”

“I’m not looking at her ass. I remind you sir, she is my calculus teacher.” Cletus lifted his chin toward Jessica’s departing form. “I’m looking at the palm print on her ass.”

I returned my eyes to my girl just as she twisted at the waist and sent me a shy grin over her shoulder, setting my heart off on a goose chase.

Jessica hadn’t cared two nickels when I’d pointed out the hand marks to her just before she’d left. When I suggested I give her one of my clean shirts to cover the evidence of our groping, she looked at me like I was crazy.

Instead she surprised me by laughing at the incriminating smudges. She also laughed about the fact that the rest of her clothes were ruined by my dirty paw prints—everything but her impractical boots—and waved away my insistence to replace the outfit. She seemed to be delighted by her rumpled state, and her eyes burned brighter after she saw how disheveled she was.

“Hold your hand up.” In my peripheral vision I saw Cletus lift his palm toward me, suspending it between us.

I kept my eyes on Jessica, the sexy sway of her hips, how her long blonde hair was blown over her shoulder as she walked to Claire’s car. She held her head high, and the big smile she gave me from across the parking lot as she opened the passenger door to Claire McClure’s Chevy almost knocked me off my feet.

This girl was flaunting the fact we’d just made out in the supply room.

“I will not hold my hand up,” I said absentmindedly.