Page 66 of Baker

His eyes narrowed. “Not what?”

“Boning. Fucking. Screwing.” I tapped my hand against the countertop. “Does being here and not having me bent over this island bother you? You seem nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Ohhhkaaay.”

He crossed his arms. “I’m not.”

I took a step back away from the island and looked him over. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m uglier than fuck now then, huh?”

He wasn’t. His jeans were cuffed, and he was wearing black boots. When combined with his unwrinkled white tee shirt and his nervous nature, he was cute. He was billboard worthy, and it amazed me that someone hadn’t scooped him up yet.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “Uglier’n fuck.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you decide why you came by?”

He mashed his arms tight against his chest. “On Saturday night. I’ll pick you up at, say, seven?”

The complete change of the conversation’s pace caught me off guard, but I recovered quickly. And, I did so with a huge smile. “Seven sounds good. Can we take your motorcycle? I’ve always wanted to ride on one.”

“We’ll take my car.”

I laced my fingers together and batted my eyes playfully. “Can we take the motorcycle?”

“We can’t,” he said stone-faced.

“Oh. Is it broken?”

“No,” he snapped.

“Sore subject?”

“Is what a sore subject?”

“You bike being broken.”

“It’s not broken.”

“Why can’t we take it?”

“There’s not a place for a passenger.”

I’d never heard of such a thing. As far as I knew, all motorcycles had a place for a passenger. I wrinkled my nose. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Sounds like we’re taking the car.”

He smiled and reached for his tea. After finishing it, he carried the glass to the sink. “You going to be here Friday night?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Planning on it, why?”

He turned around. “Just wondering.”