“Oh, right. City girl, huh? New York?”
“Boston,” I answer automatically, before the shock can creep in. Everyone who lives in Friesville knows everyone’s business. Does he really not know where I’ve been the past four years, making something of myself while the rest of Friesville just rots? Or does he not care?
“I never thought I’d see Little Blue again,” he says, lovingly patting the rusty bucket of shit known as my car. One thing about Dax is that he makes it no secret, he likes cars better than people. And he and his family are big on nicknames. They nickname everything and everyone.
Suddenly it springs into my head, the nickname he used to call me.
I want to pound on my head and shake it out, but instead, it blossoms. I know it’s going to infect my head like a disease. Everything Dax has ever said and done has had a way of burrowing itself into my cranium.
He’s still talking about the car. “That’s guts, girl. I can’t believe the Donahues let their baby cross several state lines in this. I thought for sure they’d insist you get something with a five-star crash rating and air-bags out the ass.”
The truth is, even before I went away to school, my VW was on its last legs. My parents had considered getting me a new car but it eventually became a non-issue, since the T took me everywhere I needed to go. So I’d left my VW in my parents’ garage. I’d only had my parents bring it up to me three months ago, when I graduated and had to go on the job hunt. They’d wanted to buy me something new, but I told them, mature woman that I was, that they should save their meager teacher’s salaries and let me work for it.
That was back when I had the world at my fingertips. When I was young and, obviously, stupid. Those idealistic dreams crashed about two minutes after I started working at Banks and Hoffman. At the current salary I’m making, I’d have to work, oh, a hundred years to be able to afford something decent.
But Dax doesn’t need to know any of that, and I’m determined to keep it that way. I thrust my chin into the air. “This car is just fine. Cars never impressed me. They’re just a way to get from Point A to Point B,” I say, knowing it’s the one thing guaranteed to rile him up.
It doesn’t work. He lets out a short laugh. “You haven’t quite made it to Point B, yet, Katydid.”
Ugh. There it is. The nickname. I cringe inwardly, trying to think of a witty retort. Nothing comes.
“Ha, ha,” I say. Brilliant comeback. And now I’m blushing. FML.
Just then, my phone dings again. I look at it. Fowler wants to know why I haven’t been answering him. Perfect. I start to jab in a reply when suddenly Dax snaps his fingers at me.
He yanks open the door and hooks a finger toward me, beckoning me out. The last thing I want to do is to come closer to him, but I guess I have no choice.
I swing my legs out from under the steering wheel and step outside as the sky lets out another burst of cold wet rain, dampening my skin as I push a ropey wet lock of blonde hair out of my face. I’d had it in a slick city updo, about a million years ago, but now the style is probably more like cavewoman.
I can feel his eyes roaming the length of my body, stopping at my pumps. Since Friesville is a farming community, shitkickers are considered perfectly appropriate footwear for church, weddings, formal dinners. Probably the last time someone wore business attire here, it was 1979. I’d done it on purpose, so I could show everyone in this town just how mature and worldly I’ve become. I’m projecting hot, successful and way beyond Dax Harding’s reach. Fake it until you make it, right?
Well, it’s not exactly having the effect I’d hoped.
He manages to look better, with his white-t-shirt matted against his muscled chest and his dark hair tumbling over those hypnotizing eyes of his.
I look down toward my toes, because I can’t look anywhere near him without being flooded with memories and realize that my silky shift is also starting to hug itself against my body, and my bra isn’t doing nearly enough to hide the fact that my nipples are as hard as peanuts.
I try to be casual about crossing my arms over my chest but it only draws his eyes right there. Goosebumps pop up like daisies on my arms.
He starts to say something, but my phone dings again. I look down at it, but there are raindrops on the display, so I can’t quite make out the message before, to my shock, he grabs it out of my hand and mimes like he’s going to throw it into the forest.
I reach for my cell. “Don’t you dare!”
He shakes his head. “So you’re one of those people who are more attached to their phones than their own brains, now, huh?”