Talk flirty to me a roma.., p.61
Talk Flirty to Me: A Romance Collection,
p.61
“I appreciate that,” I say, waiting for the punchline.
“That’s why I want you to drink and be merry and invite cute boys over on a whim to touch your naughty bits.”
And there it is.
I blink twice. “How sweet.”
“Seriously. Every day that I come home and I don’t see a hair scrunchie on your doorknob, I die a little inside.”
I snort at her dumb system. “Okay, Jenna.”
“So, please, do it for me.” She reaches out and pats my knee. “Do it for your naughty bits, Heidi. We need this.”
“Please stop calling it that.”
“Bring a boy home and I will.”
“If I say I’ll think about it, will you drop it?” I ask.
“Yes,” she answers.
“Then, I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you. But don’t over-think it. It’s just naughty bits.”
I cringe as I twist back to face my portrait. With blushed cheeks, I raise my charcoal and try to focus on finishing his lips.
I glance up at the model’s face. His eyes turn away again, sending a brief shiver down my spine.
Can he hear us?
No, definitely not.
Dear lord, I hope not.
I stuff my sketchpad into my backpack as thunder rumbles just outside the doors of Ramsey Hall. Rain pours down from the sky. Lightning every few seconds. This storm isn’t going anywhere. I try to find a way to keep my backpack — and my precious sketchpad — from getting soaked on my way to the parking lot.
No more rain, the weatherman said.
Leave the umbrella at home tonight, he said.
No wonder my allergies are going nuts tonight.
Jenna groans as she flicks up the hood on her jacket. “Another storm?” she asks.
“Another storm,” I repeat.
“This better not mess up my hair before I get to Bobby’s...”
I chuckle at her little face just barely visible through the hole of her hood. “If he really likes you, then it shouldn’t matter what your hair looks like.”
Jenna scoffs. “You got a lot to learn about men, kiddo.”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
She throws her messenger bag strap over her shoulder and exhales, locked and loaded for battle. “All right. I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Or tomorrow morning.” She chuckles. “We’ll see.”
“Have fun.”
“I will!”
Jenna charges through the door into the rain. I quickly follow, pinching the hood of my jacket with one hand and keeping my backpack shielded with the other. The rain is loud and unyielding over the sounds of my sneakers stomping through the puddles as I sprint through campus toward the student parking lot. I spot my old, beat-up sedan parked beneath a lamppost on the west side and bolt faster toward it.
Jenna weaves through the parked cars ahead of me, racing to her Mustang a few spots down from mine. “Bye, Heidi!” she shouts into the wind as she opens the driver’s side and leaps inside.
“Bye, Jenna!” I shout back as I rustle through my pocket for my keys.
I open my door and toss my backpack inside, resting it on the passenger’s seat before climbing in myself. I close the door and sit back, happy to listen to the rain slapping against my roof for a few seconds while I catch my breath.
Jenna’s engine revs with life, her bright headlights flashing on a mere second before she hits the gas and blazes out of the lot way faster than she should.
With a chuckle, I slide my key in the ignition and turn it.
Click, click, click.
“No...” I whisper. I turn it again.
Click, click.
“Oh, come on! Please...”
Click, click, click.
“I think I can,” I say, feeling some hope. “I think I can. I think...”
Click, click, click.
“Dammit.” I abandon the keys. “Dammit. Dammit!”
I must have left my lights on. No, I didn’t. Did I?
Shit.
I reach for my backpack in search of my phone. Jenna will hate me for this, but I don’t have anyone else I can call.
A horn blares outside. I look up at a car sitting idle directly in front of me. I squint, but I can’t make out who it is through the blinding headlights.
The lights flash twice at me.
Jenna!
I put the phone away and grab my bag. She must have spotted me sitting here like an idiot.
I’m saved!
I rush outside, locking my dumb car behind me as I race toward her. The passenger side door pops for me. I grab it, quickly sliding in and out of the rain before I get soaked all over again.
I drop my bag on the floor between my feet. “Jenna, thank you—”
I freeze.
No. Not Jenna.
Definitely not Jenna.
Jenna’s not a man.
Jenna doesn’t have those cheekbones.
Or that chestnut hair. Or a five o’clock shadow. Or those perfect, round eyes I shaded with charcoal just twenty minutes ago… which I can now see are a bright shade of green.
It’s the model from class.
And I just got into his car.
I just got into a stranger’s car.
My stomach clenches.
He looks at me with one hand on the wheel. The other touches his chin, giving it a simple scratch as he bobs his head toward my car.
“Car trouble?” he asks with a deep, youthful growl.
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. My voice, lost somewhere in the depths of my throat, refuses to do its job.
“I...” I squeak.
Leave.
Get out.
Run.
Now.
“I’m sorry!” I say as I fumble for the knob. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Wait,” he says, making me pause. “It’s all right. Stay out of the rain.”
Another bolt of lightning flashes in the sky and I flinch.
He smiles, that perfect jawline dipping with the most delicious dimples I’ve ever seen.
Why did I have to flinch like a damn child?
My cheeks burn. My fingers shake. Still, I say nothing.
His throat clears. “So, car trouble?” he asks again.
“Uh...” I find my voice. “Yeah. I think so. I tried to start it and it did that clicking thing.”
“Sounds like a dead battery. You leave the lights on?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, probably. That’s definitely something I’d do.”
Again, he smiles. “No worries, I’ll give you a jump.”
“No—!” I shake my head. “No, don’t... don’t trouble yourself. I can get my roommate to do it in the morning.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“It’s pouring out there! Really don’t. I’d feel like an asshole — more than I already do.”
He sits back and laughs. “Then, can I give you a ride home?” he asks.
I hesitate. I can walk it. It’s not too far. It’s only... on the other side of campus, plus two blocks. And my backpack would get soaked, my sketchbook included. I can’t even describe how much that would ruin this already horribly eventful night.
Or I can do as my BFF Jenna would do and let the cute boy drive me home.
I hold my breath, feigning confidence. “Okay,” I squeak.
He smiles again.
Dimples for days.
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Tabatha Kiss lives in Chicago, Illinois. You can probably catch her huddled up in a hoodie, reading a good romance beneath a tree in Jackson Park with her trusty husky by her side. She enjoys roller derby, sushi, and is always searching for her forever bad boy.
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Tabatha Kiss, Talk Flirty to Me: A Romance Collection
