bed and crack open my laptop. “Okay,” I say, wiggling my fingers over the keyboard as he goes back to strumming the guitar, “tell me what to talk about tomorrow.”
“Just pepperoni? Why not sausage and pepperoni? Or olives or Canadian bacon?”
Talon’s flipping through the songs on his iPod with one earbud in his ear while the other dangles down his toned chest under a blue button-down. I don’t blame him for acting so—there’s no other word for it—bored. I think I’ll make myself fall asleep with all the pizza talk. And we’ve only been in the car for twenty minutes. Ugh.
Wesley better keep a close eye on his guitar. I sense its life is in danger.
Talon eventually shrugs and says, “I don’t know. Guess I like plain pizza.”
“Cheese is plain pizza. Unless it’s the four-cheese kind. I can’t remember what the four cheeses are, though. Mozzarella, that’s a given. But what else? I know it can’t be feta. Because when you cook feta, it smells like ass.” I wink at him, and he semi-chuckles. Like one of thosereally awkward I’m-humoring-you laughs. I want to slam my face on the horn.
Why is it I can chatter my tongue off with any other guy—even Wesley—and make it super interesting and funny, but when it comes to the God-sent specimen next to me, I end up blabbering about cheese? Talon sticks the other earbud in and reclines his seat. Lovely. This is just
lovely!
I’ve reached the maximum level of awkward.
Desperate for something to do, I make sure his eyes are still closed before I reach between his legs to get a box of crackers, even though I’m far from hungry. I’ll probably end up stopping at a gas station to barf because my stomach feels like stretched rubber. Putting food in there will send it bouncing right back out.
Talon shifts, and my arm gets trapped between his thighs. His closed eyes pop open, and I jump back into my seat, swerving the car onto the rumble strip on the side of the interstate. I think five gallons of blood rush to my face.
I can’t look at him. Oh holy wow, I almost touched his crotch! I may die right here in the driver’s seat.
When the blood stops pounding in my ears, I hear something else, and I finally get the nerve to shoot my eyes over to Talon, who’s laughing his butt off. And like there’s a flusher on the side of my head, my face goes from super hot to lukewarm as I bust up with him and the blood returns to other areas of my body.
He plucks an earbud out, still chuckling as he says, “And I thought things couldn’t get more awkward between us.”
That stops my laughter. I knew I was being a total dud. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Kayla, I was only talking about the fact you’re my girlfriend’s best friend, and we’re alone together.
You
aren’t awkward.”
My pizza conversation begs to differ. “Like I told you before, you’re my friend too. It shouldn’t be awkward at all.”
“Yeah.” He leans back again, tucking a hand behind his head and closing his eyes. “Speaking of Reagan, I’m on an assignment.”
“Oh?”
“She wants me to drill you on what you want for Christmas. She wanted me to be subtle about it, but …”
I laugh. “I like direct. Tell her I want something that won’t embarrass me this year.”
“You didn’t like the underwear and fabric softener she got you?”
One of his eyes pops open to catch my reaction, so I pull out a full-force gag and grimace. Leave it to Reagan to give me G-strings on Christmas. And not just any Christmas, but the first one we had with the guys. I had to suffer through a million and a half wedgie jokes, compliments of Wesley and his big mouth.
“Okay, can you be more specific? I don’t want to go back to her with only that. She’ll jump down my throat about how useless I am.”
Another edge to his voice. I want to poke and prod at it, but I’m not sure how to do that without sending up a red flag with the words I Want to Be Mrs. Talon Gregory!
“Just pepperoni? Why not sausage and pepperoni? Or olives or Canadian bacon?”
Talon’s flipping through the songs on his iPod with one earbud in his ear while the other dangles down his toned chest under a blue button-down. I don’t blame him for acting so—there’s no other word for it—bored. I think I’ll make myself fall asleep with all the pizza talk. And we’ve only been in the car for twenty minutes. Ugh.
Wesley better keep a close eye on his guitar. I sense its life is in danger.
Talon eventually shrugs and says, “I don’t know. Guess I like plain pizza.”
“Cheese is plain pizza. Unless it’s the four-cheese kind. I can’t remember what the four cheeses are, though. Mozzarella, that’s a given. But what else? I know it can’t be feta. Because when you cook feta, it smells like ass.” I wink at him, and he semi-chuckles. Like one of thosereally awkward I’m-humoring-you laughs. I want to slam my face on the horn.
Why is it I can chatter my tongue off with any other guy—even Wesley—and make it super interesting and funny, but when it comes to the God-sent specimen next to me, I end up blabbering about cheese? Talon sticks the other earbud in and reclines his seat. Lovely. This is just
lovely!
I’ve reached the maximum level of awkward.
Desperate for something to do, I make sure his eyes are still closed before I reach between his legs to get a box of crackers, even though I’m far from hungry. I’ll probably end up stopping at a gas station to barf because my stomach feels like stretched rubber. Putting food in there will send it bouncing right back out.
Talon shifts, and my arm gets trapped between his thighs. His closed eyes pop open, and I jump back into my seat, swerving the car onto the rumble strip on the side of the interstate. I think five gallons of blood rush to my face.
I can’t look at him. Oh holy wow, I almost touched his crotch! I may die right here in the driver’s seat.
When the blood stops pounding in my ears, I hear something else, and I finally get the nerve to shoot my eyes over to Talon, who’s laughing his butt off. And like there’s a flusher on the side of my head, my face goes from super hot to lukewarm as I bust up with him and the blood returns to other areas of my body.
He plucks an earbud out, still chuckling as he says, “And I thought things couldn’t get more awkward between us.”
That stops my laughter. I knew I was being a total dud. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Kayla, I was only talking about the fact you’re my girlfriend’s best friend, and we’re alone together.
You
aren’t awkward.”
My pizza conversation begs to differ. “Like I told you before, you’re my friend too. It shouldn’t be awkward at all.”
“Yeah.” He leans back again, tucking a hand behind his head and closing his eyes. “Speaking of Reagan, I’m on an assignment.”
“Oh?”
“She wants me to drill you on what you want for Christmas. She wanted me to be subtle about it, but …”
I laugh. “I like direct. Tell her I want something that won’t embarrass me this year.”
“You didn’t like the underwear and fabric softener she got you?”
One of his eyes pops open to catch my reaction, so I pull out a full-force gag and grimace. Leave it to Reagan to give me G-strings on Christmas. And not just any Christmas, but the first one we had with the guys. I had to suffer through a million and a half wedgie jokes, compliments of Wesley and his big mouth.
“Okay, can you be more specific? I don’t want to go back to her with only that. She’ll jump down my throat about how useless I am.”
Another edge to his voice. I want to poke and prod at it, but I’m not sure how to do that without sending up a red flag with the words I Want to Be Mrs. Talon Gregory!
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