I hadn’t had much of that in a really long time.
And, y’know…wildly attractive and charming.
Hotter than the sun, really.
“Definitely some fries,” he said, hitting the gas down the quiet street. He turned at the corner, found a curb spot, and he was out of the car mere moments later.
“Show me that heel,” he said when he came around and opened my door.
I swung my legs over the edge of the seat, so they were dangling out of the car while I remained seated, and before I could even give a thought to what was going to happen or how he was going to “fix” it, Connor went to work.
He looked at my boot for approximately one second, then without a word, he pulled it off my foot.
Something about the confidence, the utter capability of that swift move, made me want to gasp.
Or request smelling salts so I didn’t faint.
I watched in disbelief as he snapped the heel like a twig, easy and casual like it wasn’t glued and nailed together. I was fairly certain the move didn’t require superhuman strength, but I was just as certain I couldn’t have cracked off a heel like that.
Well OKAY, I thought.I’m not even going to entertain any thoughts about what insanely attractive thing just happened.
Nope.
“Now they’re flats,” he said, looking up at me with a boyish half smile as he held out the boot for me to slide my foot back into. “Right?”
I swallowed and slid my foot back into the boot, suddenly giggly and light-headed as I stepped out of the car. “Right.”
The boots didn’t look right without the heels, but if you weren’t checking too closely, they worked.
When we got inside (where, true to his word, nobody evenglanced our way), I saw what was happening at the far end of the bar just as he looked over and gave me the hugest grin.
“We have to,” he said.
“Nooo, oh my God,no,” I said, shaking my head. I’d never done karaoke and I was definitely going to keep that streak going. “You can, but I am not. Ever, like, never ever.”
“Oh, come on—just a little duet.”
“No, thank you,” I said, and I was a little surprised that he wanted to. That he was unserious enough about himself to think it’d be fun, laid-back enough to risk being spotted.
We went over to a table in the corner and sat down.
“Do you know what you want to drink?” he asked. “Because I think that bartender is literally the only guy working tonight.”
“Just a Jack and Coke,” I said.
“And fries,” he added. “Be right back.”
I watched as he went over to the bar and ordered, and I wondered—yet again—how this was happening.
I was at a random dive bar with Connor Cunningham and he was ordering my drink.
After asking me to sing a karaoke duet with him.
After buying me dinner.
After picking me up from my childhood home.
Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I was sound asleep in my room at my dad’s house, Dale Earnhardt Junior was having the zoomies in the living room, and my brain was taking me on a wild ride with 9.63 inches of hand span.