“Are you quite finished?” he said, intentionally affecting a tone of deadly boredom.
“Yeah,” she gave a dismissive half shrug as if there were nothing worth looking at anyway, “I saw everything there was to see.”
They both burst out in laughter.
She wrapped her arm around him and led him outside.
“So, where to now?” he asked.
“What?”
“The date isn’t over. You agreed to two dates. Half a minor league game that you left bellowing about oral sex is not an entire date.”
“You’re kidding,” she said.
“I’m afraid I’m not.”
“I left because I thought I might’ve embarrassed you.”
“Not a chance.”
“So do you want to go somewhere else?”
“Yep. I’m entitled to time.”
“Did you, like, pay for a whole three hours? Because your Pretty Woman references are fairly sophisticated for a nonfan,” she said.
“I wasn’t referencing prostitution or your insistence that it’s a reasonable setup for romance. I merely indicated that, for a fair hearing, one requires at least four to five hours for a single date.”
“Agreed.”
“I chose the ill-fated baseball game. I suppose let’s go to the next stop on my agenda, although it’s a bit early.”
“There’s an agenda? I was all impressed by your low-key baseball date, and then I find out there’s a schedule to keep!” she laughed.
He liked her laugh, liked that she was relaxed enough to laugh again now. He was sorry he’d made her uncomfortable by checking her out so openly at the game. And he liked how she put him in his place. Women never dared to do that. He even hoped they could move past it and have a nice time. Luke shook his head.
“I think we’ll have a detour first. Not on the official agenda. Since you were talking shit about my squash game, let’s head to the gym.”
“I’m not dressed for a workout,” she said.
“There’s a shop at the gym. We’ll kit you out.”
“Do I have to wear a kilt or something? For squash?”
“The uniform is shorts and a jersey, but you can wear whatever you like to exercise in.”
“I don’t like to exercise. I like to eat nachos. I thought we established that,” she joked, following him to a corner where he hailed a taxi.
He laughed.
Chapter 13
SHE SAT BESIDE HIM in the back of the cab. He wished he’d called one of his chauffeured cars—it wouldn’t smell like old cigarette smoke and whatever greasy drive-thru food the driver was eating—but he knew she’d be self-conscious in a chauffeured car. He wanted her to be comfortable, to have fun. So he tried to breathe through his mouth and ignore the stink of the hired car.
Paige sat close enough that her arm brushed his sleeve. He was aware of her closeness, of the vanilla scent of her hair or skin, either the smell of her shampoo or a lotion. Something sweet and highly edible. Soon he could smell only her. The vanilla of Paige, a scintillating sugary musk, overwhelmed the less pleasant fragrances of the interior of the Buick he’d hailed.
His senses swam with her nearness and the rich vanilla of her seeming to fill up the entire space. Luke felt the shape of her hand, the outline of her littlest finger as it lay on the seat beside his leg. He studied her hand. The short nails with pink polish, the glittery sort. The women he spent time with had glossy nude colored manicures showcasing long nails that spoke of effortless, work-free lives and accentuated diamond jewelry. Paige’s hands were different. These were hands that carried and lifted, hands that performed tasks and didn’t have a maid and a chef and a manicurist. He picked up her hand in both of his before he could think better of it. Her hand felt small and calloused in his, dry as paper and not at all like the supple fingers of his girlfriends with their designer moisturizers. He covered her hand with his.