Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

ME:

Pick you up at 10. Goodnight, pumpkin.

Her first response is an eye-roll emoji, which I don’t even try not to picture because I fucking like her eye rolls a whole lot.

CHARLIE:

Goodnight.

I’m in front of Charlie’s building at ten on the dot, an iced coffee waiting for her in the cupholder. Smitty most definitely gave me a sly look when I ordered it, and I most definitely flipped him the bird. That old guy thinks he knows everything.

I stand outside of my car, trying to look like I’m not insanely eager to see her. At 10:07 a.m. she steps out, shoving something into a bag, her phone in one hand as she tries to push her still-straight hair out of her face. I miss her curls.

Walking toward her, I reach out to take the bag from her, and her face snaps up.

“Blimey, you scared me!” She hands the bag over easily and blows a strand of hair away from her face, but it just flops right back down.

That’s when I get stupid. I run my index finger along her forehead, then tangle my fingers through her silky, bright red tendrils as I tuck them back.

“Sorry,” I say as I stuff my unruly, very bad hand into my jeans pocket. And I am sorry. For scaring her. For touching her.

“You’re fine.” Her blue eyes are so light in the sun that they’re nearly silver. “Should we go?”

I open the back door and set her bag down, giving myself a moment to chill out. We have nearly two hours alone in this car ahead of us.

When I get in, Charlie is already in the passenger seat, buckling herself in. She freezes when she spots the iced coffee next to my hot one. “Is that for me?” I smile as her eyes widen, still locked on the cup.

“It sure is, carrot cake.” I buckle my own belt, and her baby blues lock on mine for half a second. Then, she licks her lips and lifts the cup to her perfect, pouty mouth. And here comes those goddamn noises. I shift in my seat, mentally telling my dick to settle the fuck right down. Now!

She clutches the cup to her chest with both hands. “You are wonderful, and I love you so, so much.” Her eyes are closed as she talks to her drink. It’s adorable. So unlike the Charlie I’m used to seeing. I chuckle as she rocks side to side.

Wide eyes meet mine again, almost as if she’d forgotten I was here. Her gaze moves down to where I know my dimples are. I always know when people are looking at them. I was made fun of as a kid for having two deep dimples on one side of my face. Because kids fucking suck and will find anything to make fun of someone for. The way she is looking at that spot, though, is almost like she’s in awe of them. But it’s probably just the coffee-induced euphoria I’m seeing on her face.

I push the ignition button and put the car in drive. My playlist, which I picked out a little too carefully, consists of Khalid, John Mayer, and some Brazilian songs. I hope she likes it.

“So, how was dinner last night? Give me the details.” But not if those details include Zach putting his hands on you.

“I get why Adam and Lainey are obsessed with that place. Literally, every single thing looked amazing, and the lasagna was incredible. And homemade tiramisu?” She pinches her fingers together and brings them to her lips, mimicking a chef’s kiss.

“I’m glad you liked the food, but tell me about the date.” I feel the anger rise inside me, thinking about Zach’s texts. I’m only asking because she said last night that things went well. I need to know what that means.

“Oh, right. The date. It was good.” She pauses, looking down at her lap with a small smile on her lips. Is that smile for Zach? “Really good.”

I don’t like the way that answer makes me feel.

Really good? What does that mean?

“Go on,” I manage to bite out.

“I don’t know, I mean, you were right. He loves his family. Loves American football. Or just football. He wasn’t rude to the waiter. Didn’t get too handsy, and the kiss was nice.” Cue the loud record scratch in my head.

“Kiss?” The question comes out a little screechy. Okay, a lot screechy.

“Mm-hmm. He walked me to my door, said he wanted to see more of me, and kissed me.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “It wasn’t like, earth-shattering or anything, but it also wasn’t my worst kiss. Not all first kisses are super amazing, right? Not like in the books, anyway.”

I hate the resigned tone in her voice. This was the first date she’s gone on in a while, and she’s already settling for not her worst kiss? Nah.

“I think first kisses can be earth-shattering. With the right person, I think every first could be. Not that I have any experience with the right person. I’ve never been in a long-term relationship. At the first sign of things not feeling right, I end it.” How’s that for an over-share? I hope that doesn’t make me sound like an asshole.