Taking the Heat

by Victoria Dahl

“Not like me,” Gabe said. “When you said I was gorgeous, I just accepted that you knew what you were talking about.”

  “You’re never going to drop that,” she moaned.

  “Never. Will you go out with me?”

  She glanced around, her eyes darting from him to the table next to him and then the front door. “Go where?”

  “We could go for an evening hike sometime. Or we could go to dinner.” He waited until she met his gaze again. “We could count this.”

  She swept another nervous look over the room. “I don’t think we could. I’m wearing flip-flops.”

  “I think that still counts. To make it official, we could go do something highbrow afterward. There’s a historical talk at the museum tonight. We might have missed it, though. Still, I bet some of the art galleries are open. We could go nod and murmur at the art.”

  She watched him for a long moment, her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed with thought. She cocked her head a little. Gabe tried to look sincere and patient, even though he felt like squirming. “Or we could get ice cream,” she finally said.

  Hiking, enchiladas, ice cream. Maybe she was the perfect girl. Maybe he was in big trouble.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  VERONICA WONDERED IF she could die from blushing. She hadn’t been lying when she’d called him beautiful. Or gorgeous. Or sweet. Gabe MacKenzie was a fucking dreamboat and she was on a date with him. An embarrassingly honest date.

  They strolled down the boardwalk with their ice-cream cones and every time her shoulder brushed his arm, she blushed. It was dark now, at least. And probably too cold for ice cream, but she didn’t think that was why her nipples were hard.

  God.

  Maybe he’d been joking about the camping, but the idea intrigued her. What would that be like? To go camping with a hot guy? To be totally secluded in the pitch-black night, surrounded by wolves and bears and all sorts of terrifying things? Separate tents or not, surely she’d end up in his sleeping bag. She shivered at the idea of him touching her. She hardly knew him, but she liked the thought. It was strange, this awareness. She couldn’t remember a time she’d felt like this before.

  “I’ve been to sleepaway camp,” she blurted out. “I don’t want you to think I don’t have any experience.”

  His cone drifted slowly down from his mouth. “I see. At sex?”

  “No! What? I meant camping. Experience at camping!”

  “Oh. Because sleepaway camp... I thought... I don’t know.” He grimaced and shook his head.

  She thought she would blush again. Or die of embarrassment. But instead she laughed. Hard. “Wow. You’re a pervert.”

  “I’m not! I was just thinking of...something else. And you were thinking about camping. And I assumed we were on the same topic. That’s all.”

  Did he mean he’d been thinking about having sex with her? That was only fair, really. She’d been thinking about sex with him. After last night, it was the standard she’d set. The giant flashing sign she’d put down between them.

  “Fine,” she finally said. “Thinking about sex doesn’t make you a pervert, but you also ordered butter-pecan ice cream. Clearly there’s something wrong with you.”

  His face relaxed into a relieved smile. “There’s nothing wrong with butter pecan. Even so, that was only the first scoop. The second is chocolate. Surely that redeems me.”

  “Maybe.” She finished her ice-cream cone and crossed her arms against the chill.

  “So how did you end up back in Jackson?” he asked.

  Veronica thought of all the reasons she’d given other people. That New York was too expensive. That she’d been offered a great opportunity as Dear Veronica. That she’d missed her dad. She sneaked a look at Gabe. He was frowning a little, waiting for her answer. He looked...sincere. And he didn’t love the city, either.

  The dark gray mass of the truth was pushing at her chest, squeezing the life out of her. It felt as though she were there again, in the city, in her tiny room in her crappy apartment in her intimidating neighborhood.

  “I hated New York,” she said, and it felt good to finally say it out loud.

  “Oh,” he said, the word a little dark with shock. “Really? Why? Didn’t you say you’d wanted to live there for your whole life?”

  “I did, but that was the New York from movies. The New York my mom and I used to talk about visiting. It was Breakfast at Tiffany’s and You’ve Got Mail and later Sex and the City. That’s not a real place.”

  “Sure it is,” he said.

  “I thought you weren’t a city boy,” she said, suddenly suspicious.

  “I’m not!”

  “Well, maybe you don’t remember what it’s like to live there. It felt like...a battle.”

  He nodded. “I know it can be a rough place.”

  “It wasn’t that, exactly. I knew it would be expensive. I knew it could be dangerous. I thought I had it all planned out, though. I found roommates through an ad on Craigslist. Single women like me. I thought... I don’t know. I’d watched too many movies. I thought we’d be friends, and I’d landed this amazing internship at an iconic paper, and everything I was waiting for was right there in front of me—it was all about to happen, and then...”

  She felt very alone for a moment, walking down the street with Gabe. She didn’t know how to explain it. It was as if the city had betrayed her. “My roommates weren’t friends. They kept to themselves. And the quirky neighborhood felt like a gauntlet of yelling men and piles of leaking garbage bags, and there were roaches everywhere. And at my amazing job, I was just a cog in the wheel, and even though I did well, nobody cared if I made it or got spit out. The city was nothing but noise and steam and shadow and millions and millions of strangers.”

  He nodded. “I get that.”

  “Do you?”

  He nudged her with his shoulder. “Of course. It’s too much sometimes even for people who love it.”

  He made her feel better. Of course New York wasn’t for everyone. She should have known it wouldn’t be right for her. And of course, there’d been things about it that she’d loved, but they’d been hard to think of at night in her lonely bedroom on her noisy street.

  Their steps had slowed as they’d talked, but she and Gabe were still heading toward her place. This morning she’d vowed never to see him again, but now they were on some sort of date, and what did that mean? Did he think she’d invite him to her place? Did she want to?

  Tension drew her shoulders tight. She didn’t know what to say. She was going to start babbling again. She could feel it. She was going to start talking about virginity and dating and then tell him he didn’t have to pretend to like her.

  Maybe she’d start spouting off statistics. She’d looked them up. That was her job. Even if she felt like a freak, she wasn’t alone. About 4 percent of women were still virgins at her age.

  Her lips parted. The words pushed at her throat, wanting out. The awkwardness needed to escape.

  Veronica snapped her mouth shut and shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. Her fingers closed around her keys just as she and Gabe turned onto the narrow walk that led to her door.

  She dropped the keys immediately, then snatched them off the ground before Gabe could reach down to help.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, as if she needed to be sorry for dropping her own keys on her own walkway. Sorry, I was just thinking about sex statistics. The words pushed again at the back of her teeth. Did you know that a large percentage of women don’t experience pain when they lose their virginity? And anyway, I kind of already took care of that part, so you don’t have to worry.

  No. She wasn’t going to say it. She wasn’t going to respond to awkwardness by being more awkward. Not with him. Not after last night. She’d used up all her quirky points already. She had to be norm
al, at least for a little while. She’d try being herself again on the third date. Or the fourth. If they got to that point.

  Let him see the real you. Right. Get drunk, spill your deepest secrets, then let him tuck your drunk ass into bed while you weep over his handsomeness. Solid advice.

  She shoved the key into her lock and unlocked it with a loud clack.

  “Thank you,” she said, turning toward him so she could say goodbye like a normal person. “I had a great time.”

  “I’m not going to ask to come in, Veronica. I only tuck girls in on first dates. On second dates I have a strict no-tucking rule.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. He looked so serious. “Last night wasn’t a date.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Wow, you’re right. Tonight is our first date. I hope you’re ready for the tucking of your life, then.”

  She leaned against her door, her laughter helping her forget what she’d even been so tense about in the first place. “You’re awful, Gabe.”

  “Thank you,” he answered. He hadn’t cracked a smile, and now his gaze fell to her lips. “You’re cute, Veronica.”

  “Huh,” she breathed, caught between humor and the unbelievable thought that he was about to kiss her.

  “Really cute.” He moved slowly closer. “And I like you in flip-flops. Your toes are blue.”

  She laughed a little, a huff of breath, and then he kissed her. His lips touched hers for only one soft moment at first, just a careful, tentative touch. Then another kiss, warmer this time, and waiting. She sighed, tipping her face up as his fingers touched her jaw.

  Her heart tripped over itself then. The kiss was a world of sensation. The brush of his beard on her chin, the smell of his skin, her pulse pounding in her ears.

  He lifted his mouth and looked down at her, watching her eyes as if he was searching for an answer. But he didn’t need to search. She was already breathing too quickly, already stunned and aroused. Both of his hands framed her face this time, and when his mouth touched hers again, she opened for him.

  He still tasted sweet from the chocolate, but his mouth was hot against her. So hot. She rubbed her tongue against his, wanting more of that sweet warmth.

  His body shifted closer to hers. Veronica let her hands rise. She let them touch his chest. Lightly at first, but as he kissed her more deeply, she moaned against his mouth and spread her fingers over his chest.

  God, his tongue was slow against hers. A slow, steady stroke that sent a wave of shivery pleasure through her body. Her nipples went tight. Her fingers pressed harder into his chest. There was barely any give to him at all. He was...hard.

  She made a noise in her throat at the thought, some instinctive sound of satisfied surprise.

  Gabe slowed the kiss, ended it, lifted his mouth from hers. She wanted to pull him back down. She wanted more.

  His teeth flashed in a smile. “I thought it’d be good to see if we had chemistry.”

  She stared at his mouth, willing it to come closer again. “And?”

  “And if you’re not sure, I should check again.”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Good idea,” he whispered just before his lips fell to hers.

  Their mouths were more urgent this time. Or maybe it was only her quickening the pace, because she slid a hand into the soft waves of his hair and urged him closer.

  His hands moved from her shoulders to her back, and Veronica wished he were touching bare skin. She wished he’d slip his hands beneath the hem of her shirt. She wanted to feel the edges of his rough fingers on her naked back, and she wanted—needed—him to feel her heat. God, that would be so good. She pressed even closer to him, and his fingers dug faintly into her back as if he wanted her closer, too.

  Triumph fizzed into her veins when he groaned into her mouth. To make a man like this groan. To make him desperate...

  But then he pulled away. “Oh,” she breathed on a sigh of disappointment.

  He shook his head. “I’ve gotta go before I lose all my willpower.”

  “Oh,” she repeated, slightly dazed. Willpower to resist her? “Okay. Wow. You’re way better at that than any of those New York guys.”

  His laugh was a little strained as his hands finally slid free of her waist and he stepped back. “I’m pretty damn happy to hear that. I guess that means the chemistry is okay.”

  “It’s all right, but we should probably try again soon to be sure.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” she repeated.

  “I get off work at six. Are there any trails we could hit with just an hour or two of daylight?”

  “Trails?” she said, aware that her brain wasn’t quite back to working order.

  “I thought we could go for a hike.”

  She stared at him for a long moment before a sweet happiness filled her up inside. He didn’t want to go to an art show or an avant-garde movie or a noisy bar. He wanted to take her hiking. “That’d be great,” she said. “There’s a trail that starts a few blocks away.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She reached behind her and twisted the doorknob before she could say anything weird, then let her body weight swing the door in. She closed and locked it in the same slow state. Her body felt heavy. Pulled down. It made her want to kick off all her clothes and slide into bed. Was that how so many women ended up accidentally sleeping with men they hadn’t meant to? A lazy, languid slide into bed from the sheer weight of arousal?

  “Wow,” she breathed. She was going to have sex. Real sex. With him.

  Well, she assumed she was. She wanted to. And he seemed...favorably inclined.

  Veronica stayed pressed against the door for quite a long time, imagining that mouth on hers again. And then she imagined that mouth moving lower. Down her neck, over her shoulder and then lower to her breasts. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly, but the thought of that slow tongue on her nipples made her pant. And then...

  And then.

  She tossed her keys on the table and slipped off the flip-flops, smiling stupidly down at her blue toenails. She went to the kitchen to pour a glass of water to take to bed, but she found herself standing in front of the fridge, staring at the notes.

  #1—Let people see the real you.

  Maybe that had been a good idea, after all. Maybe it had been genius. After all, if you wanted someone to fuck the real you, you had to be visible. Maybe her problem for so long had been that she’d dated guys who’d never known the real her. What was it she’d thought they would like about her, anyway? The wall she’d put up? The clothing she wore like a costume? The fake confidence?

  She’d been herself tonight, as much as she could manage right now, anyway, and Gabe had liked it. So maybe...

  #2—Ask your friends for help.

  Girls’ night was coming up. The same night as her birthday. Maybe she’d feel more mature. Maybe she’d be more experienced. She’d have Lauren and Isabelle alone and she could ask for their advice about Gabe or her dad or her job. And she had days to work up to it.

  But first she had a date with Gabe.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dear Veronica,

  I’ve received an amazing job offer that would allow me to move from Wyoming to a big city on the West Coast. I’ve always wanted to live somewhere fast-paced, and even though the budget would be tight, I could swing it. But I haven’t mentioned this offer to anyone else. The problem is my fiancé. He can’t move and he would never want to live in the city. I love him with all my heart, but if I stay here and get married, I’ll never get to follow my other dreams. I’m only twenty-five. Maybe I’m not ready to live in Wyoming for the rest of my life.

  —Torn

  VERONICA STARED AT the screen. She’d alread
y opened this email three times. And closed it twice.

  She hadn’t received many letters this week. It was a slow time of year, but she wondered if the live Dear Veronica readings were cutting into the normal mail she received. Maybe people wanted to save up their questions for the live event. Regardless, she hadn’t yet found another letter that was compelling, sounded true and focused on a dilemma she hadn’t answered already.

  But she didn’t want to answer this one.

  She considered digging back through the letters she’d received months ago but felt like a worthless coward even thinking about it. This woman needed help, and she needed it quickly. So...

  Veronica opened a new text window, copied the letter into it and then stopped with her hands poised over the keyboard.

  Unless it was a subject she knew nothing about, she tried to go with her first instinct when answering a letter. Her gut response. Then she’d close the letter, let it sit for a few hours and go over the question and her answer more deliberately later. She’d found that the key to being a good advice writer was recognizing which of her responses were based on personal triggers and then working through it from there. You could never be completely objective or you’d lose all the style and insight people were looking for, but you couldn’t base every answer on “Here’s what I’d do.”

  And that was her problem with this letter. She wanted to respond by banging out in all caps, “DON’T GIVE UP YOUR REAL LIFE FOR A FANTASY OF HAPPINESS IN THE BIG CITY, BECAUSE THE BIG CITY IS NOTHING BUT LIES AND LONELINESS.”

  Yes, it was her first instinct, but it was maybe a tiny bit too subjective.

  She ordered herself not to close the text window, then flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulders. “Okay,” she said. “Ready.” Then she dropped her hands to her lap and let her head fall back until she was staring at the ceiling.

  This woman had written in because she had dreams. Veronica knew what that was like. She’d lived for nothing but dreams for so long. Dreams that she could leave this place and find love and success and a spine. She’d wanted to find herself, as if her confidence and strength had been hidden in a scavenger hunt that wound through the dirty, damp streets of Manhattan. How many miles had she walked through the skyscrapers and the parks and the subway stations, looking for things that had never existed?