“No touching.”
“Um, is this for you and me or for me to use in general?”
“Both.” She squares her shoulders. “Or whatever relationships you don’t want to commit anything to.”
“What if I want to commit to sex later? I think you’re confused about the purpose of dating, Haley. It’s to touch.”
She takes a straw out of the wrapper and slides it in her drink. “You have to be careful. Touching means something to a woman. One little brush of your hand or hand to the small of her back . . .” She pauses long enough to remind me that I touched her there walking in. “One moment like that, and it’s tattooed on a woman’s skin.”
“So what you’re really saying here is you’re sitting there thinking about me touching you earlier?” I grin as my body temperature rises a couple of degrees. “Another point in my favor.”
“No, it’s not,” she says, shifting in her seat. “It’s not a point in your favor, because you didn’t mean anything by it. You were just being flirty and doing what comes naturally.”
“Right.” Wrong.
“So no touching. Between us, anyway. Leave room for Jesus.”
I scratch my head. “I’ve been to church my whole life, and I’m still gonna need an explanation on that one.”
“It means if there isn’t room between our bodies for another body, we’re too close.” She relaxes back in her seat, watching my reaction with amusement.
I’m pretty certain my jaw drops, because I feel air rushing in my mouth. “I’m not going to go around with a measuring stick and make sure there’s room for Jesus between us.”
She grins. “You don’t have to measure. We’re talking about the proverbial Jesus.”
“I’m not comfortable talking about Jesus at all.” Especially when it has to do with my body not touching yours. “Can we just agree I won’t try to turn you on? Because that’s what this is really about. And,” I say as she starts to protest, “I don’t want to do that. I mean, I’d happily do that. But I think doing that would make you upset in the long run, so we shouldn’t.”
She laughs, but I see her pupils dilate. I notice the uptick in the rise and fall of her chest and the way her fingers rewrap against the side of her glass.
This woman is going to kill me.
“You’re rambling, Trevor.”
“I know.” I tug at the collar of my shirt. “What else you got?”
“The second thing is no compliments on appearance,” she says.
“You have to be kidding me.” My palm hits the table, rattling the saltshaker against the pepper mill. “You don’t want me to tell you that you look pretty tonight?”
“I mean, you can say things in a general sense, but no particulars. No commenting on hair or eyes or anything like that.”
“I thought women loved that.” I balk. “I thought it was the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“It is if you’re on a date. If you’re wanting to be a gentleman and see if a date can ultimately lead somewhere.” She bridges her fingers together and rests her chin on her hands. “Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“My point.” She gives me a forced smile. “And the last thing is, no insinuation that there will be more happening—more dates, conversations, whatever. Take it a day at a time. A meal at a time, as it is between the two of us.”
Somewhere between sitting down at the table and ordering drinks, I went wrong. I lost control. The power I usually hold in conversations and interactions with women flew right out of my pocket and into her sweet little hands.
And to make matters worse, there’s a good chance I’m going to do something I never do: play by her rules.
What in the actual fuck?
I shake my head. “So no touching. No being polite. And no alluding to plans in the future. Am I right?”
“You got it.” She smiles at Delia as she places our plates in front of us. “Trust me, Trevor. This is the way for us both to get what we’re after.”
She’s probably right. In a super annoying, sensible, fucking logical adult way, she’s probably right.
“I think this is dumb,” I say. My fingers burn with the knowledge they won’t get to touch her again. And hell if I don’t want to know how soft her skin is against me. How her tiny hand would fit in my large, calloused one. Shit. “I think this is really dumb.”
“And I think you’re dumb.”
I look up at her, and she’s smiling the sweetest damn smile I can imagine. “I was wrong. You are mean.”
“I told you.”
I have a feeling I have no idea how mean she can be.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HALEY
Am I supposed to assume we are not having dinner tomorrow?” Trevor slides me a sly smile.
The truck rolls back to Dogwood Lane beneath the bright silver stars. My stomach is full, both from the wonderful food and the ridiculous laughter. I can’t remember a time when my cheeks ached from smiling so much.