direction of the driver’s side. “I’ve got the door, Ash.”
I shake my head, exasperated, before I continue to her side. “I’m opening the damn door for you, Cara. Deal with it.”
That shuts her stubborn ass up for a second.
“Anything you want to hear on the radio? What kind of music do you like?”
“I like a lot of alternative rock.” She crosses her legs while her fingers play with her loose curls.
I breathe a quiet sigh. I really did miss that. Inhaling deeply, I catch her scent in the air and let it whisk through me. It’s not the overpowering smell that I’m used to, like heavy perfume, but a fresh one, like strawberry body wash misted with spring rain. It’s starting to smell like heaven in here. A burst of sun from the roof casts a beautiful light on her face and hair. “You know, your hair is a really pretty color.”
She giggles softly. “Thanks. It’s funny, though, because when I was young I always wished I had blonde hair. My friend, Crystal, did and I always loved the way it looked when the sunlight hit it. I actually dyed it once, but it looked pretty awful.”
I cringe. “Blonde? God, no. Your hair is perfect.”
Her cheeks pink.
I’m starting to notice how much she blushes and it’s pretty darn sweet.
When we get to Divenza’s Pizza, I walk over and open the door for her. I’m a gentleman, after all.
“You know,” she muses, “you really don’t have to do that. I can open my own door.”
I take her hand to help her out. “God, woman … you’re stubborn. I know you can, but I just want to. Okay ?”
“ Okay ,” she says with a grin.
We find a booth in the corner and I usher her in. She slides across the worn leather of the seat and I move in beside her. “So, what kind of pizza do you like?”
“Gooey, scrumptious pizza.” She laughs as the words leave her mouth.
“I’m glad you’re having a good chuckle at my expense, because, if I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who told me it was a good poem.”
“Well, it was a good poem,” she jokes. “It was short and sweet.”
“I’m not sure Professor Travinski thought so, but I’m glad it’s over.” I wipe my hand across my brow. “I was sweating bullets having to read that thing.”
She bites back a snort and smiles. “Ash, it was like seven words.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s one thing that I’m just not good at.”
She cocks her head to the side with curiosity. “One thing meaning, you’re good at everything else?”
“Just about,” I come back, trying not to sound conceited and failing miserably. “I don’t want to sound like a cocky jerk, but typically, whenever I try things, I’m good at them.”
She props her elbows on the table with interest. “Like what?”
“Like … baseball, basketball, soccer, hockey, piano, guitar, flute, swimming …” I pause, smirking. “Shall I go on?”
She settles back against the booth, holding her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I get the picture. It’s good to have things to improve upon, though. Otherwise, what else would you do with your time?”
“Yes, and poetry is one area where I need a lot of improvement.”
The waitress, a tall brunette with noticeably big tits, comes over to take our order. She leans over the table, waving those things in my direction and stares at me and only me. “What can I get you two?”
“Can we have a large pepperoni pizza?” I turn to Cara. “What do you want to drink?”
“I’ll just have water,” she says, staring at the waitress with disbelief.
I hand the menus to the waitress and her finger skims mine. “Okay, two waters then.”
She gazes at my lips, licking her own. “You got it, sweetheart.”
When I face Cara again, she’s rolling her eyes.
“What?” I ask, feigning innocence.
She fusses with the sugar packets on the table. “Do women always throw themselves at you?”
I try to act offended, though sometimes I think I have an invisible sign that says “show me
I shake my head, exasperated, before I continue to her side. “I’m opening the damn door for you, Cara. Deal with it.”
That shuts her stubborn ass up for a second.
“Anything you want to hear on the radio? What kind of music do you like?”
“I like a lot of alternative rock.” She crosses her legs while her fingers play with her loose curls.
I breathe a quiet sigh. I really did miss that. Inhaling deeply, I catch her scent in the air and let it whisk through me. It’s not the overpowering smell that I’m used to, like heavy perfume, but a fresh one, like strawberry body wash misted with spring rain. It’s starting to smell like heaven in here. A burst of sun from the roof casts a beautiful light on her face and hair. “You know, your hair is a really pretty color.”
She giggles softly. “Thanks. It’s funny, though, because when I was young I always wished I had blonde hair. My friend, Crystal, did and I always loved the way it looked when the sunlight hit it. I actually dyed it once, but it looked pretty awful.”
I cringe. “Blonde? God, no. Your hair is perfect.”
Her cheeks pink.
I’m starting to notice how much she blushes and it’s pretty darn sweet.
When we get to Divenza’s Pizza, I walk over and open the door for her. I’m a gentleman, after all.
“You know,” she muses, “you really don’t have to do that. I can open my own door.”
I take her hand to help her out. “God, woman … you’re stubborn. I know you can, but I just want to. Okay ?”
“ Okay ,” she says with a grin.
We find a booth in the corner and I usher her in. She slides across the worn leather of the seat and I move in beside her. “So, what kind of pizza do you like?”
“Gooey, scrumptious pizza.” She laughs as the words leave her mouth.
“I’m glad you’re having a good chuckle at my expense, because, if I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who told me it was a good poem.”
“Well, it was a good poem,” she jokes. “It was short and sweet.”
“I’m not sure Professor Travinski thought so, but I’m glad it’s over.” I wipe my hand across my brow. “I was sweating bullets having to read that thing.”
She bites back a snort and smiles. “Ash, it was like seven words.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s one thing that I’m just not good at.”
She cocks her head to the side with curiosity. “One thing meaning, you’re good at everything else?”
“Just about,” I come back, trying not to sound conceited and failing miserably. “I don’t want to sound like a cocky jerk, but typically, whenever I try things, I’m good at them.”
She props her elbows on the table with interest. “Like what?”
“Like … baseball, basketball, soccer, hockey, piano, guitar, flute, swimming …” I pause, smirking. “Shall I go on?”
She settles back against the booth, holding her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I get the picture. It’s good to have things to improve upon, though. Otherwise, what else would you do with your time?”
“Yes, and poetry is one area where I need a lot of improvement.”
The waitress, a tall brunette with noticeably big tits, comes over to take our order. She leans over the table, waving those things in my direction and stares at me and only me. “What can I get you two?”
“Can we have a large pepperoni pizza?” I turn to Cara. “What do you want to drink?”
“I’ll just have water,” she says, staring at the waitress with disbelief.
I hand the menus to the waitress and her finger skims mine. “Okay, two waters then.”
She gazes at my lips, licking her own. “You got it, sweetheart.”
When I face Cara again, she’s rolling her eyes.
“What?” I ask, feigning innocence.
She fusses with the sugar packets on the table. “Do women always throw themselves at you?”
I try to act offended, though sometimes I think I have an invisible sign that says “show me
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