He gave me a squeeze. “You ready?”

I nodded.

He let me go.

I went to my bag.

When I saw his note next to it, I tried to surreptitiously tuck it in my purse.

And then I thought, it’s not as if he doesn’t know I like him, we’d just been making out.

And it wasn’t weird for a girl who likes a guy to want to save the first note he ever wrote her. A note where he said she’s adorable and he’s glad she woke him up in the middle of the night to sort their shit.

So I bravely tucked it in and turned to him.

He didn’t say a word.

He wasn’t smirking at me.

He just moved to me, angled his head and kissed my neck.

He’d done that last night too.

I hoped that was an Axl Thing because it was sweet, and I liked it a whole lot.

He took my hand and led me to the door to the garage.

“Later, Cleo!” he yelled.

There was utter silence from the house.

Axl grinned at me as he pushed open the door.

I grinned back.

Chapter Nine

Porn Preferences

Hattie

My joy faded on the drive home.

Though, it had started on an upswing, me finally in Axl’s Jeep Wrangler (also painted graphite).

Jeeps were awesome, for one, and Axl was awesome, for another.

Mostly, it seemed like I’d wanted to be riding in that Jeep for decades, and there I was, riding with him in that Jeep.

But then he was quiet, and I was quiet, and being in his fantastic house after sleeping on his fabulous mattress started to wear off.

And, as I was wont to do, I got to feeling awkward.

I had a million questions to ask.

Like who was the artist who took the pictures in his living room, because it seemed like they were all taken through the same person’s lens?

And did he decorate his house?

And did his folks live in Denver?

And did he have brothers and/or sisters?

Also, if he used his Jacuzzi a lot.

But this was us in a confined space. The time we’d be together was short. I’d lost the confidence I’d found when tucking his note in my purse. And even if he’d fascinated me for a long time, and I was dying to know everything about him, I didn’t want to seem like I was interrogating him.

I also didn’t want to communicate I was dying to know everything about him.

And he wasn’t communicating at all.

After what seemed like forever, he called, “Hattie.”

“I know,” I blurted. “This is awkward.”

“What?” he asked.

I looked at him. “This silence. It’s awkward.”

“It is?”

He didn’t think it was?

“Well…”

“Babe, we don’t have to talk every second we’re not kissing.”