“I’m ordering monogrammed notepads this afternoon,” I informed him.

His lips quirked again. “Birthday present from Mom a couple of years ago. I think that’s the first note I wrote on one of them. Usually it’s grocery lists.”

“Did she buy you the bowl on your dining room table?”

“Yeah.”

“She has good taste.”

“Yeah.”

“The piece in the picture window?”

“That’s mine.”

Nice.

“Your middle name starts with an ‘S,’ ” I told him something he knew.

“Sylas, after my dad.”

“Ah.”

“Yours?”

“Marianne, after no one.”

He smiled.

Then, unfortunately, he said, “As much as I’m all in to chat all day with you in my arms pressed to my sink, honey, I gotta get back to it.”

He said this low, without hiding his disappointment.

I didn’t hide mine either.

“Bummer,” I muttered.

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.”

Every second we’re not kissing.

Mm.

Shiver.

He reached out and touched my thigh.

It was brief.

It was sweet.

And another shiver.

“I get you’re shy,” he continued gently. “I get this is new, even if it feels old. But don’t get into your head about little things, honey. I’m just drivin’ you home, glad we’re movin’ shit in the right direction, lookin’ forward to taking you out tonight, and that’s all that’s on my mind.”

“Okay,” I said softly.

“That and to ask if you’ve had anything to eat.”

“Just coffee.”

“You want me to swing through someplace?”

I knew he was gorgeous.

I knew he was brave.

I knew he owned a Jeep.

I knew I wanted him.

I sensed he was nice, what with how cool he’d been through all of this (mostly).

But man, it felt great knowing he wasn’t just nice.

He was seriously super nice.

And I could murder a bagel, but I could do that mostly to draw out the time I spent with him.

He was busy, however, and that’d be uncool.

“I have stuff at home,” I told him, not exactly the truth, since I made a grocery list the day before, but I didn’t go out and get any of it.

I still could scrounge something up.

“Right,” he said, then he asked, “You tell your dad he’s on his own tonight?”

Ugh.

Another joy killer.

“No,” I answered and explained, “The less time I give him to hassle me about it, the better. I’ll tell him later.”

“Right,” he muttered.

Okay.

Well, there was something to talk about.

Not that I wanted to talk about it.

But it was something we should discuss.

“We need to talk about him, Axl,” I noted.

“We will tonight,” he agreed. “Or maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after.” He paused. “What I’m saying is, it’d be good to have some time with just us before I get aggravated about your father.”

Oh boy.

“Okay,” I gave in, but importantly pointed out, “Though, just to say, when we talk about it, like you said, he is my father.”

He glanced at me then reached my way, not to touch my thigh, with his palm up. Thus, I knew he wanted my hand.

I gave it to him.

Then he rested our clasped hands on my leg and said, “It won’t be you I’m aggravated with. It’s important you get that, Hattie. I told you when I was bein’ a dick to you, I understand the pull a parent has, even when you wish they didn’t have it. Yeah?”