her open door.
âWhat? Are you double-checking to make sure I buckle myself right? Because I have done this before.â
âSmart-ass.â Dean slammed the door, and Violet watched him through the windshield as he jogged around to the driverâs side. She flipped on the dome light and pulled down the visor, intending to reapply her lip gloss, but a photo covered the mirror. It was of Dean in camo with his arms around two smiling soldiers.
She slammed the visor back up as he hopped inside.
âItâs funny, I didnât picture Tyler as a pick-up man.â
âHeâs not; the truck is mine,â Dean said. âI just hate driving in traffic, and heâs used to it.â
âWhere are you from originally?â she asked.
âQueens, New York.â
âRight, I heard New York is really quiet and tranquil, no traffic at all.â
Dean leaned over and gave her hair a gentle tug, setting tingles loose across her scalp. âI rode the subway everywhere, so I never had to deal with traffic.â
Violet thought he might kiss her again, but instead he released her, settling back into his seat.
If you continue to make out where anyone can see you, you will end up on YouTube. Cool your loins.
âSo why does a city boy need a big ole truck?â she asked.
âBecause I like to explore the world around me. Some of the best places are off the grid, and for that, you need four-wheel drive.â Dean started the truck, turning up the AC, and Violet sighed as the cool air hit her heated skin.
âYouâre not planning on doing that now, right? No dark and secluded areas in the woods where it would be safe to hide a body?â Violet was only joking, but then she caught Deanâs worried expression.
âIâm starting to think youâre concerned I might really murder you.â
âNo, not really, I just have a sick sense of humor.â Pausing briefly, she cocked her head. âUnless . . . Should I be worried?â
Before she realized what he was about to do, he gently brushed her hair off her forehead, the light touch sweetly searing her skin. âDonât worry, Violet. Youâre safe with me.â
If he kept saying her name like that, Violet would believe anything.
F IFTEEN MINUTES LATER , Dean pulled through the Jimboyâs Tacos drive-thru, handing Violet the bag of food. He normally avoided fried stuff, but the minute sheâd suggested Mexican, his stomach had started growling.
âMmmm, I love the smell of Jimboyâs. I donât know if itâs the grease or what, but nothing else compares.â Violet held the bag under her nose and inhaled loudly, drawing a laugh from Dean.
âIâm more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy,â Dean said.
âI can see that.â
He glanced her way before he made a left out of the parking lot. âWhat, do we have a certain look or something?â
âNo, I just tend to think of uber-masculine men as devouring rare steaks and heaps of mashed potatoes. On game day in high school, if Tracy and I werenât fast enough, the football players would clean out the cafeteria before we had a chance to get our food.â
âWell, I donât know about rare steak, but I could probably scarf down my motherâs entire brisket in one sitting,â Dean said.
âBrisket?â she asked. âWhatâs that?â
âJust a cut of beef. My mother was, is Jewish, so we had it most holidays.â
âOh.â Dean waited for her to ask him something else about his family, but instead, she changed the subject entirely. âSo, do you live alone or with Tyler?â
Dean should have been relieved that she didnât ask him more about his family, but instead, he found it odd. Most women asked a million questions, even personal ones, to pass the time until they hooked up.
Guess she really doesnât want to get involved.
âI live alone, and Iâll
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