“That’s one of the reasons.”
Pleasure flooded me because I totally got that message.
Ty Walker wasn’t my normal kind of guy. Hell, I hadn’t had any kind of guy in a while. When I first started classes at Bossier Parish Community College, one of my classmates, a benign dude who loved to wear dorky T-shirts, had asked me out for coffee. It had sounded like a very grown-up kind of date. I went, and after he bought me a latte and showed me pictures of his pit bull, he inquired if I wanted to go to his car and have sex. He’d asked in the same way he might ask me if I wanted a pumpkin cheesecake muffin from the pastry case. I answered, “Not really,” and I hadn’t been on a date since. Actually, I was sort of tired of my own company, and once or twice, I had wondered what it would have been like having sex outside Starbucks in a car with Cedric. Probably anticlimax-ic with a side of dog hair on my new sweater.
So I was primed for this grown-up frat boy to talk me out of my thong. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice softening in that intimate way that had something in my belly warming.
For a few seconds we stared at each other. Like a Hallmark movie or something.
Finally, he said, “I wondered if you’d like to go out sometime? I have these tickets for—”
Please let him say Zombie Matrix . . . or the opening of Shield of Death . . . or . . .
“—Gritz and Glitz in three weeks and would love for you to come with me.”
I blinked. Gritz and Glitz? What the hell was that? And weeks from now? “Umm . . .”
Ty leaned back. “I have to fly out to LA and will be there for a week, so maybe we can hit dinner or something next week. But I’m going to need a date for the gala, and I could think of no one I would rather go with than a foxy college student who works at an antique store and makes me a little crazy with how pretty her mouth is.”
He lowered his gaze to my lips, which of course made me nervously lick at them. “I’m not sure—”
“Of me?”
Bingo.
“No, what I’m trying to say is . . .” I trailed off because I couldn’t figure out how to say I wanted to go out with him but not to that particular torturous event.
He grinned even bigger. “Oh, I see. You like to play hard to get, but that’s cool. It’s kinda sexy.”
Squealing brakes.
“I’m not playing hard to get. I’m just not rolling over for you to scratch my belly, Mr. Walker. Besides, I don’t do galas . . . or brunches . . . or monograms.”
His smile disappeared, and he looked like a dog who’d gotten into the trash. “I’m sorry. That was stupid. I know you’re not playing games. I’m just so into you and—”
The irritation inside me subsided as I waited for him to finish.
“I’m so screwing this up. I know a girl like you doesn’t need me to drop dumbass pickup lines.” He shook his head, giving me a wry smile.
Goodness, he was a snack and a half. And owning his mistake. Not to mention he’d admitted to being into me. I lifted a shoulder. “Okay, so you screwed up. Now you know.”
“Yeah.” He sucked in a big breath. “Can we just ignore that really bad attempt at flirting? I mean, I totally tempted the fates when I bragged on my game.”
That made me smile. “Fine. Let’s erase the conversation.”
“Whew,” he said, swiping fake perspiration from his brow. “Now about that carpet.”
“Right. It’s in the storeroom wrapped and ready to roll. How would you like to pay?”
He held up a sexy finger. Okay, it wasn’t sexy. Not really. “Just so you know, I am already learning, because I started to say something inappropriate under the guise of flirting and didn’t. See? I learned my lesson.”
“And show remarkable self-control. I admire a guy who has lots of control.” Okay, I hadn’t meant it that way, but he liked it. His eyes lit up, and those lips curled just perfectly at the corners.
Ty pulled out his wallet. Expensive leather. Or so I assumed. I took his platinum card and processed it, stapled the receipts, and handed both over.
“Okay, Mr. Walker, follow me,” I said, slipping from behind the register and walking toward the back room. He may have murmured something under his breath. Probably an innuendo. That made me smile a little.
Ten minutes later, he and I had managed to get the heavier-than-it-looked carpet loaded into Ty’s father’s truck and strapped down. For really heavy purchases, Cricket had a guy who came on Fridays. But like I said, I was pretty strong.
“There,” he said, shoving the tailgate into place. “I hope this works in my living room because I do not want to have to load this again. Way heavier than it looks.”
“It seems versatile. Like you can use it for something formal or casual. I don’t know your look, but . . .” I trailed off because although I worked at an upscale antique store, I knew nothing about expensive furniture. I had grown up in a house where the furniture was hand-me-down or bought on credit from the local furniture outlet. Our couch had been a floral velvet with a wagon wheel. Oh, and then a camouflage one my uncle had financed at the Bass Pro Shops. We’d used a remnant of carpet under the dining room set that had been given to my granny by a friend who’d moved to Idaho.
Yeah, I had grown up on the Balthazar compound north of Mooringsport, which was right outside Shreveport. My family had lived there since my great-grandfather, who’d left Natchitoches after a knife fight, settled in the area because there had been a lot of trees and not as many law-abiding tattletales. The Balthazar family settled into businesses that skirted the law but still allowed them to show up on the family pew each Sunday. My grandfather owned a tree service, and his brother had a junkyard and garage that repaired transmissions. We weren’t exactly like the families represented in reality series about people in the South, but we weren’t far off. Most of my uncles and cousins had done some time. A little distribution here. Some bad checks there. And a B and E or two. Too many aggravated assaults and resisting arrests to name. We were known for being trouble, and ever since Ed Earl had landed me in a women’s correctional facility a little over two years ago, I had removed myself from the family. The only person I ever talked to was Gran, and that was on the phone over coffee every morning.
“You could always come over and give me your opinion,” Ty said, sliding those mirrored sunglasses into place, hiding the baby blues. But the effect wasn’t dampened. I loved the way he looked in sunglasses, that longish hair curling at the ends and brushing the gold metal.
“I wasn’t asking,” I said hastily.