Page 42 of Smut
Don’t even picture it, I warn myself.
He goes on. “Dinner. Tonight. After class. My treat.”
My head jerks back like he just grew an extra ear. “Dinner? No way.”
“We’re friends,” he protests.
“We are not friends,” I remind him. “Partners. Classmates. Maybe POW buddies. But we’re not friends.”
“You’re a very cruel woman.”
“I’m a smart woman, but thanks for not referring to me as a girl like usual. Dinner is too intimate and we’re supposed to work, not eat.”
“What about working and then eating?”
“What about just working?”
“What about not being a stick in the mud,” he volleys back.
“What about taking me for a drink,” I finish, surprising myself.
It surprises him too. He grins and those dimples deepen. “All right, a drink. I’m buying.”
“You sure are,” I tell him. “But only after we get some work done.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Interestingly enough, this is the first class where time seems to crawl past. Usually this class is over before I know it and I’m hanging onto Marie’s every word. This time, all I can think about is Blake.
Blake.
Blake.
I’ve turned into the rest of them, feeling strangely satisfied that I’m going for drinks with him after class even though I’m sure it’s what half the girls in here have done. I’m sneaking glances his way and when his eyes meet mine something in my stomach turns over, happily, like a puppy rolling over. But it’s not surrender. It doesn’t even have a name.
At least you’re not thinking about Alan and the colossal mistake you might have made by not saying yes, I remind myself and damn it, it’s like my mother takes possession of my brain every now and then.
By the time class grinds to a halt, I’m wanting a drink more than ever. I walk off with Blake and catch Rio giving me the I knew it look out of the corner of my eye.
“Where to?” I ask as we stride across the parking lot to his car.
“Ever been to Spinnakers?” he asks. “Brew pub out toward Esquimalt?”
I’d heard of it but never been there. Alan was always a fan of the fancier places downtown and certainly not brew pubs.
“Is this place safe?” I ask him as we get inside Mr. Mean, after clearing the usual crap from the passenger seat.
“Safe?” Blake asks leaning toward me, a piece of his messy hair flopping onto his forehead. I fight the urge to reach over and brush it off his face.
“Should I get a poncho for the beer spillage?” I explain.
He laughs, his smile wide and easy. “No, no. Spinnakers is sacred ground for me. I need some place I can go and not have to deal with someone’s wrath.”
“You do realize it would be easier for you to just not screw women over. Maybe just commit every once in a while or at least be honest.”
His eyes darken, the smile fading a touch. “I’ve been nothing but honest.”