But this is Luke: he gives me a little one-shouldered shrug. “I did letter in dolly hair.”
Shocked, I look up at him fully now, watching the smooth line of his throat as he swallows. “You would want to come?”
He shrugs again and tosses his cup into a recycling bin. “Why not?”
“You wouldn’t be bored?”
His smile melts my heart. “Maybe, but wouldn’t it be more fun to be bored together?”
“Are you sure?” I ask. I sort of love the idea of having Luke along for the night, especially since I miss the flirty side of him and that can only be remedied with just . . . more time with him. “It’ll be tea parties and Barbie.”
“Logan, if you keep trying to talk me out of the idea, I might change my mind,” he says, laughing. Luke manages to get a few steps ahead of me and holds open the door.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “That would be . . . awesome.”
He slips on his sunglasses and follows me into the parking lot. We reach my car, and even though his eyes are hidden behind his dark lenses, I can sense the hopeful way he stares down at me. “So . . . what time?”
There are a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but as I lean against my car door, I find myself wanting to hang out with him so much it almost feels urgent. Luke is managing to break down my walls one smile at a time. Being with him feels a little like letting go of the handlebars and racing down a hill. And it also feels like being wrapped up in the warmest blanket.
How can he feel both like an adventure and a comfort?
“Six,” I tell him. “And fair warning: you have to bring pizza and let her braid your hair if she asks.”
* * *
“YOU KNOW, IF I do say so myself, this was a great idea. You’re a fantastic babysitter.” I wiggle my toes, feet propped up on Fred’s coffee table. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re just a pretty face, Blue Crush.”
Luke grins at me from across the room where he’s sitting with Daisy at a small table, in an even smaller chair, in the midst of what appears to be an elaborate tea party. His usually soft, floppy hair is spiky now, tied up by fluorescent hairbands in about twenty tiny, crazy ponytails.
He leans toward Daisy conspiratorially and hikes his thumb in my direction. “I told you she thought I was pretty.”
Daisy slides a couple of decorative flowers into the mess of his hair. I laugh under my breath and sit up. “Well, how could I not? I mean, Daisy must have lettered in dolly hair, too, because yours looks amazing like that. Is she friends with your sister?”
“You said there’d be no teasing,” he tells me, and politely thanks Daisy when she offers him more tea.
“That doesn’t really sound like a thing I would say to you, Luke.”
“Fine,” he says, giving me a little wink. “Go ahead and joke, but don’t think I didn’t see you watching while she put in these ponytails. You love my hair.” He leans forward and puts a hand over each of her tiny ears before he adds, “And I remember how much you love to get your hands in it.”
“You had to cover her ears for that?” I ask. “That wasn’t even dirty.”
“The dirty part was implied,” he says, dropping his hands. “Sometimes the dirtiest things are the simplest. Like your swimsuit the other day: it covered more because you had to move and work in the water, but it was still hotter than some skimpy thing that shows sideboob.”
I can only look at him and blink. “But you didn’t have to cover her ears for that?”
“Oh, shi— crap. Sorry.”
I stand and walk over to them, and without even thinking, brush a finger over a piece of his hair that’s come loose. I think about how it felt to have my hands on his hips while I helped him balance at the beach, or how his eyes moving down my body felt hotter than the sun overhead. I quickly take a step back.
I veer us into safer territory: “You definitely get points for being a good sport.”
I expect him to make some crack about “points” meaning blow jobs or something, but instead he just says, “I’m having fun.”
“Would you like some tea?” Daisy says, lifting the plastic pot toward me.
“I don’t think so, honey. It’s pretty late and too much tea might keep us up.”
“I’m not tired,” she says, and turns back to her dolls. “And I want to keep playing with Luke. He’s nice. Don’t you think he’s nice, Logan?”
Luke snickers and I pinch his arm before kneeling at the table to smooth her hair. “He is nice. And silly goose, you know my name is London.”
“But Luke calls you Logan,” she says.
“Maybe he can come back and play again,” I tell her. “I bet we could get him to read you a story?”
“We’re gonna watch Frozen. He pinky promised.”
I look at him. “You pinky promised?”
He leans in. “I used my left pinkie. It’s the sneaky one, so feel free to veto.”