“It’s adoring the way you assume I would want to tangle with you, Decker. As it turns out, I don’t, you’re not my type.”
Decker shook his head in amusement. “Unless you’re gay, I’m your type.” He’s confidence pissed me off. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been expecting it. Decker had always been self-assured and cocky. According to Bradley, that was his charm. Charm my ass, it was simply an ego in need of a reality check. The Doors’ “People Are Strange” filled the car. I hated The Doors, I hated old rock, but I wasn’t about to ask the egomaniac by my side if he would change it to another station. After all, it was his car; you don’t mess with another person’s radio, that’s just uncool. I slipped my iPhone out of my pocket and found my headphones in the bottom of my bag. Scrolling through a playlist, I shoved the earphones in and smiled as my body found immediate comfort in the soothing familiar tones of Josh Gracin. I was a born and bred country girl, and I loved country music. As my entire soul was pacified under the sounds that made home not feel so far away, I was suddenly wrenched back to reality when one of the earplugs was pulled from my ear. I turned in slow motion, watching Decker as he fumbled to put the ear bud to his own ear while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. Finally he shook his head and smiled, handing the ear bud back to me.
“Country, now there’s a shocker.”
“Seriously? You’re gonna mess with my music? I didn’t mess with the grinding sound of ick coming from your stereo.”
Decker laughed. “Ick? That is The Doors you are referring to. You know, Jim Morrison? One of the most influential musicians of all time? Beats the I-wanna-slit-my-wrists tones you’re listening to.”
My jaw dropped. “You did not just go there. Country music is soothing, and it tells a story.”
“It’s depressing.”
“It’s uplifting.”
“It’s not sexy.”
“Kenny Rogers!”
He cast me a sideways glance. “Not…Sexy.”
“It’s got more heart than Beyonce and Miley Cyrus combined.”
“Beyonce is hot,” Decker said with a grin, those cute little dimples that had made my teenage heart run rampant coming out to play. Oh boy. I had forgotten about those dimples! It wasn’t fair! How was I supposed to be indifferent to those?
“I guess I like music for the musical quality, not the ass. From what Bradley told me, I assumed you would be more opened minded.”
Decker seemed a little irritated as he squirmed in his seat. “And what exactly did Bradley tell you about me, Country?” The teasing from his voice was gone, replaced with exasperation.
“Country? Really? You couldn’t think of anything more inventive like Elly May or Calamity Jane?” I sighed.
Decker’s grin was back. “You are too easily ruffled, Country. The city is going to eat you up and spit you out if you don’t loosen up a bit. Now what did Bradley tell you about me?” I reigned in my escalating hissy fit because I wasn’t going to let Decker ruffle my feathers. I simply wouldn’t allow it.
“Actually, he was a little reluctant to tell me anything about you. He said you’ve done some modeling and spend a ridiculous amount of time nude.” Decker laughed, long and loud. It was a beautiful sound, a low and seductive rumble that had me smiling in response. This carefree laughter was more like the Decker I remembered, even though I had no idea what he found so darn funny. “Call me a backwards hick, but I don’t see what’s so funny.”
“Bradley is too conventional for his own good,” Decker mumbled, his laughter ebbing.
“So what do you do then?” I wondered out loud.