“Who, me? Why me?”
“Well, I volunteered you. Mainly because you were the source of my . . . distraction to begin with. I figure it’s only right that you make it up to me. To this show.” I throw the last in for good measure, just in case my argument wasn’t convincing enough on its own.
She starts to make excuses. Just like I imagined that she would. “I’d love to help, but—” She stops abruptly, tilting her head to the side the slightest bit. As she considers me, I think back to the moment when she looked up at me after having examined my back. That same soft look is back in her eyes now. She pulls those big blues away from me for a heartbeat, but then she brings them right back. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll help you.” She squares her chin, like she’s bolstering herself, but bolstering what? Her courage? Her resistance? Her determination?
I must admit to being pleasantly surprised. I know I can be hella convincing when I want to be, but I was beginning to wonder if Katie is in possession of some sort of Rogan Immunity Charm that I’m not aware of. But now, I’m thinking that maybe inadvertently revealing something about myself, about my past, has made her see that I’m not such a cocky, obnoxious sleazeball after all.
Damn, this woman . . . She’s making me crazy!
But still, I consider this a victory, so my smile reflects as much. It’s genuine. And it’s big. “You will?”
Why the hell did I just give her an out?
She smiles in return. A small one, but a smile nonetheless.
“I will. But just to rehearse lines,” she adds sternly.
I laugh, giving her a sloppy salute. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am! I’ll pick you up at seven. We can eat and work and then maybe take a swim.”
It only takes about ten seconds for it to register. Panic. That’s what shows up on her face, in her eyes. Panic, pure and simple.
“No, I, uh, I can’t stay out too late. I’ve got some, um, things to do in the morning. But thank you. Just the lines.”
“And dinner. You have to eat some time.” She reaches for the hair that is ever-present at her shoulder and smoothes it around like a comforting blanket. Her nervous tick. “My brother doesn’t get out much and he could realllly use the company.”
“He has you,” she argues.
I give her a withering look. “Yeah, but I’m . . . me. Have you met me?”
The corners of her mouth twitch and I’m immediately gratified. “As a matter of fact, I think I have.”
“See what I mean?”
“Well, you are pretty disagreeable,” she jokes.
“A real bear of a guy, I hear.”
She exhales. “Okay. Just dinner and lines, but then I have to get home.”
“Fair enough,” I announce, backing away. I feel good that I’m making some headway, but I don’t want to push my luck. “Seven o’clock.”
She nods, her eyes shining. Right this minute, she doesn’t look worried or hesitant or guarded like she so often is. She just looks . . . beautiful.
I decide that this is the way I like her best. And that I’ll do everything I can to make sure I see it more often than not.
SEVENTEEN
Katie
What would I call my mood? I ponder this as I sit on the couch in the living room, wiggling my foot and waiting for the clock to strike seven.
Dozer is lying about three feet away, eyeing me suspiciously. Evidently my excess energy and increasing anxiety are pronounced enough to keep even him awake, which is really saying something. He’s practically narcoleptic.