“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You were my hero.” Humiliating as that was to admit, it was nothing he didn’t already know. “My knight on shining motorcycle.”
A faint blossom of pink highlighted his cheekbones, making him adorable in his embarrassment.
“Hindsight is clearer for me too,” I admitted. “You were larger than life, you still are. Everyone loved you. Teachers. Students. Old ladies at the supermarket. All the girls wanted to have you, all the guys wanted to be you. Mix in a few other corny one-liners, and you’ve got how I saw you.”
Uncertainty had loosened his hold on me. “You never wanted to tame the bad boy?”
“Not hardly.” I laughed at the idea such a thing was possible. “I knew better.”
“Then what was the appeal?” Honest curiosity overshadowed any of his lingering hurt.
“I think…” I worried my bottom lip for a minute before admitting, “I wanted to be you.”
“Be me,” he mused. “Not with me.”
“A little of both?” There had never been a clear line. Boaz was want, want was Boaz. I hadn’t put much thought into untangling the mesh of our lives until after he kissed me, until after I grasped how much I stood to lose if a romance between us soured. “Is it wrong to want to be the hero of your own story and want to corrupt the boy next door?”
A slow smile overtook his face. “You wanted to corrupt me?”
I expected him to point out I was in no position to corrupt anyone, let alone him, especially not him, but he settled back in the booth with a happy smile, fragile in its hope.
“You can’t be debauched in all ways.” When he didn’t answer, I swung startled eyes toward him. “Can you?”
He was spared from answering me when our drinks arrived courtesy of a waitress who was not Rachel. She ignored us almost as hard as we ignored her. Almost, because she still had to serve us to earn a tip.
“Did you play hooky for me?” Boaz stabbed straws into our drinks. “This isn’t your usual night off.”
“Deflate your ego. It’s smooshing me against the wall, and it’s hard for me to breathe.”
A wicked grin curved his lips. “Consider me deflated.”
I doubt he’d ever been deflated a day in his life. And yeah, that sounded bad even in my head.
“There was an incident at work.” I guided us back on topic. “A human girl was hurt in an altercation with a poltergeist, so the job site was shut down for the night.”
His amusement faded around the edges. “Job site?”
Nodding, I sipped my sweet tea. “She was attacked aboard the Cora Ann.”
“That old steamer?” A peculiar stillness infused him, and his voice came out hollow. “What does it have to do with being a Haint?”
Fiddlesticks. Apparently my bestie and I had both kept Boaz in the dark on my new job. Probably for the same reason. The girl-ending-up-hospitalized one. The one that guaranteed he would pop his cork and demand I stay home.
“Well…” The truth about how I had spent the previous week elbows-deep in research, how it resulted in a desperation for fresh air that led me to the Cora Ann, came tumbling out in a jumble. “And that’s about it.”
Boaz drew designs onto my skin with his fingertips while he digested all I’d told him.
“You’re extra clingy tonight,” I added in summation. “I’m not complaining, but I am curious.”
He stopped doodling on my arm. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, but you don’t see me squeezing you in a death grip with my biceps of steel.”
“Squirt, you don’t have biceps of steel.” He howled when I twisted his nipple. “Okay, okay. You win. What is it with you and my nipples? What have they ever done to you?” When I kept staring, waiting for a response, he caved. “I hate leaving while you’re so vulnerable. I hate knowing you’re here without protection.” He laughed, seemingly at himself. “No, that’s not true. Without my protection.”
As a swoon preventative, I reminded myself, “Taz warned me you tell everyone my panty size.”
“I have never once told anyone your panty size.” His expression matched every kid who had ever dropped their lollipop. “I’ve never gotten you out of them, so it’s not like I’ve got firsthand knowledge.”
“Are you pouting?” I thumbed his lower lip, right over the indent from his scar. “Again?”
“Depends.” He pushed it out farther. “Is it working? Do you pity me enough to wiggle out of your panties and pass them to me under the table?”
A flush rode my cheeks. I couldn’t believe for a split second I considered the logistics of getting them off without sacrificing my stretchy shorts. “Has that line ever worked for you?”
“Yes.” A cocky grin lit up his features. “I don’t recycle ones that aren’t effective.”
I shouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want the answer. “You’re totally unrepentant, aren’t you?”
“I am who I am.” He delivered the line with a wink, but it sank to the bottom of my stomach. His eyes didn’t sparkle, his skin didn’t fold into deep creases. That wink was a lie. “If I started being sorry for everything I’ve ever done, I wouldn’t have time to stay current on my favorite shows or to chase after girls who really ought to know better than to come out alone at night with a boy like me.”
Since Boaz had kicked that conversational door wide open, I walked right through it. “How many girls are you chasing these days?”
“Just the one.” His other hand found my thigh and rested there, on top of my skirt, not pressing for more, just allowing me to get used to its weight. “She’s fast, though. I haven’t managed to catch her yet.”
The heat from his palm spread up my leg and made me squirm. “Maybe invest in running shoes?”
“Nah. This is the best part.” He returned his hand to the table before I got my wriggling under control. As much as I wanted to play it cool, I had never let a man touch me that way, and it showed. “I like working for it. I want to earn it. A woman shouldn’t give herself away for free.”
“And what happens after you’ve had her?” Like I needed him to spell it out when I already knew.
He turned his head and locked gazes with me, his expression troubled. “I’ll want more.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I haven’t been with anyone since the night you assaulted me in Mom’s garden. I haven’t looked at another woman, I haven’t touched another woman, and I haven’t thought about another woman.” The furrow in his brow deepened. “This thing between us has already lasted longer than any relationship I’ve ever had. Whatever this is, I want more.”
Pleasure unfurled low in my stomach, and I allowed myself a moment to just be happy he wanted me at all. I still wasn’t convinced this was a line worth crossing between us, the idea of losing him as a friend terrified me, but I couldn’t stop myself from toeing the edge of dangerous possibility.
Eight
Dinner was nice, the kind of effortless good time that has a girl thinking second-date thoughts before the first one is even finished. Boaz proved he was my soul mate, at least in one regard, by ordering a square of Mississippi mud cake off the menu served with homemade vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. That wasn’t the proof, though. No, that came when the waitress asked if we needed two spoons, and he told her he valued his life too much to poach from me.
I appreciated guys who respected my capacity for chocolate intake without flinching.
Dessert was, of course, the best part of the meal. And not only because I played nice and shared my cake with him. Or because he let me feed him and made appreciative noises in the back of his throat I’d probably dream about come dawn. There was an undefinable quality in Boaz that made you feel like if he wanted you, if he wanted to be with you, then you must be special too. That his seal of approval, once stamped on you, made you glow so bright others couldn’t help but squint.