Read Online Ties by Steph Campbell, Liz Reinhardt - Free Book Online Page A

asks, his eyebrows slunk low over his eyes. “Sorry, I’m not following.”
    “It’s just...I, uh--” I realize that I implied he’d want something more than a date before I even knew if this was all just his polite reaction to Genevieve’s mania. “Eating is fine,” I finally stutter.
    He squints at me. “Listen, the last thing I want to do is force you into eating with me if that’s not what you want. I’m totally serious: I’d be happy to drive you home if you’d like. Or call you a car if that would be weird. Your friend was just so determined; I hated to shoot her down. But I’m not about to trap you into eating with me if you’d rather...go read old National Geographics in a podiatrist’s office. Or whatever. I don’t judge.”
    His smile is wide, and I get sucked right into it.
    “No. I mean, if you’re hungry, and you want to, I’d love to eat. With you.” I run a hand over my face. “This feels so middle school. Gen should just have handed you a note that said, ‘Do you like Hattie? Circle one. Yes or No.’”
    Our laughs bob and mix together.
    “I definitely would have circled ‘yes,’” he assures me.
    “Thank you. You’ve saved my pride.” I glance down at my cover-up and flip flops. “So, is it corndogs on the boardwalk for us? I’m not really dressed to go anywhere decent.”
    “I think you look incredible,” he says, dropping all joking pretense.
    Heat radiates from my thundering heart, up my neck and over my cheeks. “You, my friend, are pushing the chivalry thing too far. I guess we’re okay for pizza? Or burgers?”
    “Or crab. Do you like crab?” He holds a hand out to me.
    I take his hand in mine, loving the warm scratch of his palm under my fingers. “I do. Actually, I love crab.”
    “Hattie, would you care to eat a disgusting amount of crab with me? And maybe toss back few cold beers?”
    That mouth! I’ve never seen a mouth that was so obviously begging to be kissed, to be sucked and licked. My blood races and the dull roar of it in my ears makes it hard to focus.
    I think about watching him break crab legs with those huge, strong hands, about staring at his throat as he tips back an icy beer and swallows long sips, about our legs brushing under the table.
    I never think about stupid flirty stuff like this. I never get all gaga before a date. But Ryan’s caught me at a weird time, and I find myself wanting to know more about him, wanting to go on this date with him, even if he’s not remotely my type.
       “Can I have wine instead of beer?” I ask. He pulls me close to his side as we leave our booth, and he opens the door for me.
    “I think I can get you some wine, fancy pants. I’ve never dated a girl who turned her nose up at beer.”
    We walk out into the blistering heat and rush to his truck. Which has creaky, warm air conditioning, I discover.
    “I’m sorry all your former dates were burly, ale-guzzling wenches. I can drink beer. I just don’t prefer it,” I explain, rolling the window down and pulling my hair into a ponytail.
    “‘Burly, ale-guzzling wenches, huh?” He drapes an arm out the window and taps his fingers on the steering wheel.
    “I happen to admire burly ale-guzzling wenches,” I say, loving that he laughs when I press the joke. “I’m just not one of them. Beer is too bitter for me.”
    “Ah.” He nods. “Because you’re so sweet?”
    “Really? Are you going to ask me if it hurt when I fell from heaven?” The interior of his truck is small enough that I can bump my elbow against his without moving much. “More like I can’t drink anything bitter because I’m such a sourpuss.”
    “Are you?” he asks, looking at me like he’s shocked I’d say that.
    “That’s what my friends say.” I try my best to look sour enough to prove it, but something about the way he checks me out makes me want to smile instead.
    “Sour?” He shakes his head. “I think you’ve got a little bite to you. I love that, by the