“I’m not into her.” Blake’s words are distant, but direct.
My face instantly heats at the reminder of what happened earlier tonight. How could I forget? Somewhere between Blake’s freak-out in the parking lot and our peaceful patio sitting, I’d pushed my embarrassing interruption from my mind. Self-preservation has me hopeful that I’d misunderstood his statement. “Into who?”
“The girl I was… the blonde. I’m not into her.” He avoids making eye contact and studies the colored lights. “It was a hook-up. That’s it.”
It was worth a try. “You don’t need to explain. It’s none of my business who you… you know.” This is so uncomfortable.
He nods a couple times then drops his head back against the cushion. “Yeah, I know. Still wanted to tell you.”
“Why?” I speak the question and grimace. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“Fuck if I know.” He takes this opportunity to lock his eyes with mine, and even in the dark, with the only light coming from the stars and distant exterior lighting, I can see the intensity in his emerald gaze.
Like always, when he sets his eyes on mine, I’m helpless to look away. Heat gathers beneath my skin, all over my body. My cheeks, my chest, and places a lot lower simmer and liquefy under his visual assault. He tilts his head, pressing his temple deeper into the cushion.
I reach in deep, trying to pull up the image of him in the back of the SUV. If anything can zap me back to reality, it should be that, but it’s like a dream I can’t remember. There, but fuzzy. The fire in his eyes when he towered over me in the parking lot comes back clearly. He didn’t break eye contact then, and he’s not now. I wet my lips, trying to cool my heated skin.
He takes a sharp intake of breath and looks away. “So, uh… tell me about him. Axelle’s dad.”
Talk about a mood killer. I blink a few times and return my eyes to the lights. “What do you want to know?” Hell, I already told him the worst part, and he didn’t run off screaming. Nothing to hide now.
“How’d you meet?” It’s an icebreaker question, but it sounds like he forced the words through his teeth.
“High school. He was the big guy on campus. Football all-state whatever, debate extraordinaire, student government blah, blah, blah.”
“Hm. No Pantera or Metallica worship? Doesn’t sound like your type.”
“Exactly. He’s not my type, never was. I always went for the bad boys, the dropouts and druggies. I hated guys like Stewart. Putting on an impressive show, but behind closed doors…” Memories of exactly what happened behind closed doors trickle through the cracks in my protective mental wall.
“His name is Stew.”
“Stewart. Yeah.”
“Stew.”
I nod.
“Stew Moorehead.”
The crooked smile on Blake’s face, along with the way he said Stewart’s name, strikes something deep inside. An uncontrollable giggle erupts from deep in my chest. I try to muffle it with my hand but end up snorting with laughter until I can finally reclaim myself.
He doesn’t laugh with me but grins. “So if you two were so different, how’d you end up…”
Making a baby? I finish his question in my head. “I’d just turned sixteen. Saved up for two years to put a down payment on a car. Babysitting, cleaning houses, collecting cans… you name it, I did it. Finally, I had enough money saved to get the sickest ’78 Trans-Am.”
Blake’s handsome face splits with a huge smile.
I sit up, cross-legged, and face him. “It was cobalt blue. Like something out of a M?tley Crüe video. It literally purred when I hit the gas.”
He chuckles. “I bet.”
“There was a huge party. I was crushing on Trip Miller, this shaggy-haired rocker kid.” I lean in, excitement tickling my stomach, just like it did that night, hours before my fate was sealed by my stupidity. “He was a bad-boy. You know, faded metal T-shirts, tattoos made with a straight pin and Bic ink.” I’m lost in the memory and not paying attention to Blake as I relive my past.
“I rolled up in my Trans-Am, wearing skin-tight dove grey jeans, my black monkey boots, and a Whitesnake T-shirt that I cut and shredded myself.” I laugh at how hot I thought I looked. “I knew that night would be the night I’d win over Trip.”
I’ll never forget walking in and seeing Stewart there with all his friends, drunk as hell. I should’ve turned around and gone home. But if I had, I wouldn’t have Elle.
“And did you?” Blake’s deep rumbling voice calls my eyes to his.