Her finger traces the condensation on her glass. “Meh.”

I gape at her. “Seriously? He’s handsome and has a j-o-b. Your mama would love him. What’s wrong with him?”

Pale-blue eyes rise and drift over my forearms, where I rolled up my tailored shirt, her gaze lingering on my tattoos.

“Too slick, too much lacrosse.”

“He likes physics.”

“So? You do too. You know what the LHC is. You quote Carl Sagan.” She pauses, that frown on her forehead growing. “There was no . . . zing. Like with Myrtle and John.”

“Zing?”

“Physical chemistry was zero.” She cups her chin. “I’d be bored. I like . . .” Her eyes brush over my hair, the diamond studs in my ears . . . “Someone who’ll keep me on my toes.”

“Poor Brandt. I don’t think anyone has ever said he’s boring.” It’s been a long shitty day, but I grin, feeling light, and I can’t bring myself to feel bad for him. “Pasta is good. The bolognese sauce here is divine.”

She smiles. “Sounds good. And I’m telling Jack to take the emu off the menu.”

We’re eating dessert, sharing a chocolate soufflé, when she brings up the man at Walmart. “Is your dad in some kind of trouble?”

Just the idea of telling her my theories about who they are makes my skin crawl. I settle for “Maybe.”

“Tell me about where you grew up,” she asks quietly.

I wince. “Glitter City in NorCal. Funny name for a dump of a town. Best thing I ever did was leave.”

“Never went back? No friends or relatives?”

“Nah.” I set my spoon down and wipe my mouth. “My mom ran off and never came back.” I pause, fiddling with my water glass. Giselle’s family is apple-pie American, with a mom and aunt who dote on her. We’re like oil and water, soft and hard, bitter and sweet. “My dad owned a bar, but the bottle eventually ruined him. Spent most of my free time playing football or mowing lawns and working at the concession stand at the drive-in.” A long breath comes from me. “Every time I see an old drive-in movie, I think about me as a kid.”

I don’t tell her about the two weeks our electricity was turned off, leaving me scrambling and borrowing money. Later, I discovered receipts from an ATM in Vegas, and Dad and I had a big blowup. He threatened to toss me out, and I wanted to slug him. I was all he had. Woman after woman walked out on him, yet I remained, picking up pieces and gluing them together.

The space between us swells with silence, and when I look up, she’s chewing on her lips.

Rubbing my neck, I say, “I didn’t grow up like you did. Family, people that stick, you know?”

“You turned into a wonderful human,” she says, and her face is earnest—and sweet, so damn sweet.

My chest shifts ever so slightly, tugging at me, making me feel. I take a breath. It feels hot in here. Like maybe I can’t breathe. “Better than Hemsworth?”

“Well, he did buy me a villa in Switzerland, but he can suck it. You’re the man.”

She frowns, then reaches across the table and rubs her fingers across the side of my neck. Her lashes flutter as she looks at her hand, then wipes it with her napkin. “Lipstick. Red. Not sure how I missed it earlier.”

I roll my eyes. “Some random ran over to me when I met Lawrence before I came here. He always wants to meet at a bar to talk business.” I decided to hire him after all. At this rate, I might need him. He does more than just PR; he looks into people, and right now he’s running checks on my dad.

She sighs. “You don’t even have to encourage them, do you? I bet she slipped you her cell—”

“Hotel key.”

Her chest rises. “Ballsy. I should write this down.”

“You don’t need ploys. Stay you, Giselle. Smart and funny and—”

“Virginal.”

I sigh. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t need to be flirty. Just wait for the right guy—”

“Seduction 101 with Devon Walsh. You give blow job lessons?”

I bite down my groan, my body tightening at the image her words paint in my head. Her on her knees, starry-blue eyes looking up at me, her lips wet and wrapped around—

“Do you want lessons?” Keep your face blank, dude, totally blank.

She rakes her gaze over me, expression closed. Girl is cool. Her face cracks in a grin. “Ah, I’m just messing with you. I don’t need lessons. I have books for that.”

“Books?”

“Mmm, ordered a few on Amazon. Hope you don’t mind I used your address. The Ten Best Sexual Positions for a Female’s Enjoyment and How to Give Head without Biting His Cock Off should be here tomorrow.”

“You’re joking.”

“Of course,” she deadpans, a half smile tugging at her lips, verging on full blown.

“Wait. You’re serious? I can’t tell.”

“Forget that. Let’s go somewhere. I have what we need for our bad weeks. I’m gonna show you how us southern girls deal,” she says and slides out of the booth while I lay out the cash plus tip on the check.

She purses her lips. “We’ll need the Hummer for sure. Glad I took an Uber here.”

I check my watch. It’s nine. “Where are we going? I have to be at the gym—”

“Old man.”

“Four years between us,” I remind her as we walk to the exit.

She grins. “Let’s grab beer on the way—can we? Just a couple. You drive; I drink.”

“Anything else, Princess?” I murmur as we walk out to the Hummer.

“Yes, do you have any old golf clubs you don’t use? One will do. If so, we can run and grab it—if not, I’ll make do with what I have.”

“I’m intrigued.” I open the door for her and help her inside the vehicle. Before I realize it, I’m reaching over and strapping her in while she watches me. Can’t help it. My stupid . . . body . . . wants to be near hers.

She smiles so big I lose my breath. “This is going to be the best night of your life,” she murmurs.

“Really?” I stare into her eyes. I’ve never noticed the glints of white, a burst of lightning inside the blue.

A moment goes by. Maybe longer.

“Ten seconds,” she breathes.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I should just get in the car, but here I am, standing like an idiot. “Am I going to regret this adventure?”

‘“Little filly,’ as Rodeo might say, ‘When I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for more.’”

I laugh.

An hour later, after grabbing beer from my fridge and an old club, we’re bumping over a gravel road in Daisy with Sam Hunt blaring. Our windows are down, and warm air rushes through the interior, each of us lost in our thoughts. She’s braided her hair on each side and changed into a tight green T-shirt that she got on clearance, a Saint Patrick’s Day leftover. READY TO GET LUCKED, it says, which made me laugh when she pranced out in it.

I park next to an old two-story red barn. It’s pitch black, my headlights illuminating the rolling hills and meadows in the distance.