Part 37 (1/2)

”It's yours,” Townsend said. One eyebrow rose. ”For a price.”

I felt the earth move under my feet, but this time it wasn't due to a tipping toilet.

Sold to the cowgirl with the terrified grin.

Pay the man.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

I'd soaked, shaved, buffed, loufahed, and moisturized. I'd shampooed, deep-conditioned, and detangled. I'd decalloused, touched up the nails, and lotioned up from head to toe. I'd donned comfy shorts and a tank top with hot pink lettering that read, ”Still plays with horses.”

I was ready to pay the piper. Er...the videographer. I walked into the living room, my legs doing a jitterbug number. I skipped over to the couch to hide the quivering leg thing. I dropped to the sofa beside Townsend.

”Hey,” I said, breathless and hating the fact that he knew why.

”Hey,” he said. ”Nice...uh, T-s.h.i.+rt. Does Tressa want to come out and play?” He winked.

”Sorry. I only bring out the toys on the second date,” I said to hide my nervousness.

”Date? Is that what this is? A date?”

I shook my head. ”I thought-well, you know-with the auditorium and all-that this was...yeah, a date.”

”You mean our first date.”

I frowned. I hadn't really stopped to think about it, but yeah, that's exactly what it was. Our first date. Our first friggin' date!

”What's put furrows in that forehead of yours?” Townsend asked and placed his thumb on my forehead to smooth away the wrinkles.

”Furrows? I have furrows?”

He nodded. ”What's up? Why are they there?”

Hmm. Why did I have furrows?

Maybe it was because, in spite of knowing Rick Townsend for most of my life, we'd never been on a date. A real date. Oh, we'd hung out. He'd saved my cookies a time or two. (Or maybe three, but who's counting?) But we'd never done the dating thing. You know. A night out. Dinner. A movie. We'd never taken in a college game or a concert. We'd never gone to the mall or antiquing. We'd never gone horseback riding or hiking. Heck. We'd never really done the carryout pizza and a Blu-ray thing.

My forehead crinkled even more.

Maybe this was why I had creases in my forehead.

Could it be those creases were there because, despite never having had any of the traditional dating experiences, I'd ended up throwing caution to the wind (along with my skivvies) and shared my bootie-and the swashbuckler's bed-the last night of my gammy's wedding cruise? Did I have creases because this was all more than a little ”cart before the horse” for this cowgirl's peace of mind?

Not to mention-dare I say it-a tad bit...s.l.u.tty?

Gulp.

Sure. Okay. I get that it's a new s.e.xual frontier out there. I understand that lots of people my age view s.e.x as a social and/or physiological activity, rather than an emotional one. I get it. Whatever works, I guess.

But me? I wasn't there yet. Maybe I never would be. I just couldn't see myself engaging in ”recreational s.e.x.” I still wanted it to mean something, to represent something special, something lasting, something more than a few drinks at a bar and off we go for a little mutual gratification.

I'd joked about my chubby Brit counterpart, but one thing was true. I did want something more extraordinary than mindless s.h.a.gging.

”We've never been a couple,” I blurted.

Townsend's thumb stopped its soothing motion.

”What?”

”We've never done things as a couple. Not ever.”

He seemed taken aback for a second and then grinned.

”I know some things we can do as a couple,” he teased.

I reached up and took hold of his hand and held it, unwilling to meet his eyes.

”Tressa?” He took hold of my chin and tilted my head back and looked into my eyes. ”h.e.l.l. You're serious,” he said.

Serious or...deranged? I wasn't quite sure which.

”It's just, how do we know we're even compatible if we don't spend time together, do things together? We don't live back in the days where mates were selected by an offspring's parents or by royal contract,” I pointed out, thinking if I took a clinical approach, I might have a shot at convincing myself that I was on the right track here. ”Dating is the contemporary method of a.s.sessing compatibility. Dating. As in spending time together. Doing things together. Going on dates together. You know. Being a couple.”

”We are a couple.”

I shook my head.

”No. We aren't a couple because we've never been a couple.”

Townsend got that look in his eye. The one that said I'd lost him.

”You're gonna have to help me out here,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Another ”tell.”

I searched for the right words.

”There's been 'Rick,'” I said, putting my left hand out, palm-up. ”And there's been 'Tressa.'” I put my right hand out. ”But,” I brought my hands together, ”there's never been a 'Rick and Tressa.' Do you see what I'm saying?”

Rick looked at my hands for an uncomfortable amount of time. He finally sighed.

”You're saying you want the whole enchilada,” he said.

Yeah. I guess I was.

”Did that song Jax Whitver sang to you get you thinking about what you've missed out on?” he asked.

I frowned.