I liked my name.

“You got Millie written all over you,” he stated.

What a weird thing to say.

And more weird, it was like he knew what I was thinking.

“What?” I asked.

“Darlin’, all that hair that doesn’t know whether it wants to be red or blonde. Those big brown eyes.” His smooth, deep voice dipped in a way that I felt in my belly. “That.” He lifted his beer cup with one finger extended and pointed close to my mouth so I knew he was indicating the little mole that was just in from the right corner of my top lip. “Cute. Sweet. No better name for a girl that’s all that but Millie.”

Okay, that was nice.

“Well, thanks, I think,” I mumbled.

“Trust me, it’s a compliment,” he assured.

I nodded.

“What’re you doin’ tomorrow night?”

I felt my head give a small jerk.

Holy crap, was he asking me out on a date?

“I... nothing,” I answered.

“Good, then we’re goin’ out. You got a number?”

He was!

He was asking me out on a date!

My heartbeat quickened and my legs started to feel all tingly.

“I... yes,” I replied, then went on stupidly, “I have a number.”

“Give it to me.”

I stared at him, then looked down his wide chest to his trim waist, then to his hands. One hand was holding his beer, the other one had the thumb hooked in his cool-as-heck, beaten up, black leather belt.

I looked back to his face. “Do you have something to write it down?”

He gave a slight shake of his head and an even slighter (but definitely hot) lip twitch before he stated, “Millie, you give me your number, do you think I’m gonna forget a single digit?”

Okay, wow. That was really nice.

I gave him my number.

He repeated it instantly and accurately.

“That’s it,” I confirmed.

He didn’t reply.

I started to feel uncomfortable.

And nervous.

I’d just made a date with a guy I didn’t know at all except I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of him and then I gave him my number.

Now what did we do?

“You come with someone?” he asked.

It was weird that he asked that now, after he’d asked me out.

After I thought it was weird, I thought that maybe he thought I was on a date and then made a date with him while I was on a date and then he’d think I was a bitch!

“No, just some girlfriends,” I told him quickly.

He gave me another smile. “That’s comin’ with someone, darlin’.”

Oh.

Right.

I bit my lip.

“Who?” he asked.

“Justine,” I answered, tipping my head toward the kitchen table where there were four guys and two girls sitting. When he turned his head to look, I expanded my answer, “The brunette.”

And right then, Justine, my friend the pretty brunette, drunkenly bounced a quarter on the table toward a shot glass, missed, and grinned. Two of the guys and one of the girls immediately shouted, “Shot!” Thus, she unsteadily grabbed the glass and threw it back, some of the vodka in it dribbling down her chin.

She finished this still grinning.

“You ain’t ridin’ back with her,” Logan growled, and my gaze shot back to him. “Fact, she ain’t drivin’ anywhere.”

Oh man, I could love this guy.

Oh man!

That was crazy!

How could I possibly think I could love this guy just from him saying that?

“She isn’t and I’m not,” I shared. “We’re staying the night here.”

“Good,” he muttered right before he got bumped by someone precariously making their way to the keg.

“You wanna get out of here?” I found myself asking, and got his swift attention. “I don’t know. Sit out on the back deck or something?” I finished quickly so he didn’t get any ideas.

“Fuck yeah,” he whispered, his brown eyes locked to mine, and the way he said that, the way he was looking at me, I felt a shiver trail down my spine.

“Okay,” I whispered back.

He leaned in and grabbed my hand. His was big and rough and felt warm and strong wrapped around mine.

Okay.

Oh God.

Seriously.

Seriously.

It was true. It was crazy and totally freaking true.

I could fall in love with this guy.

And I knew that just from him wanting me to be safe and the feel of his hand around mine.

Oh man.

He led me out to the deck, straight to the steps that led to the yard and we sat on the top one.

I was nervous in a way I’d never felt before but it felt good as I stared out into Kellie’s parents’ dark yard.

“So, Millie, tell me what we’re doin’ tomorrow night,” he ordered.

I turned my head to look at him. “What?”

“Whatever you wanna do, we’re doin’ it,” he stated. “So tell me what you wanna do.”

I tipped my head to the side, intrigued with this offer.

“How about we fly to Paris?” I suggested on an attempt at a joke.

“You got a passport?” he asked immediately, not smiling, sounding serious.

My heart skipped a beat.

Though, he couldn’t be serious.

I mean, Paris?

“Do you?” I returned.

“Nope, but that’s what you wanna do, I’ll get one.”

I grinned at him. “Not sure you can get a passport in a day, Logan.”

“You wanna go to Paris, I’ll find a way.”

I shook my head, looking away.

He was good at this. A master at delivering lines.

I liked it. It showed confidence.

But they were still just lines.

“And he says all the right things,” I told the yard.

“Babe, I’m not jokin’.”

My eyes flew back to him because he still sounded serious.

And when they flew back to him, the lights from the house illuminating his handsome face, he looked serious.

“I don’t wanna go to Paris,” I whispered. “Well, I do,” I hastened to add. “Just not tomorrow night. I don’t think I have the right thing to wear on a date in Paris.”

He grinned at me. “Well, that’s a relief. Coulda swung it by the skin of my teeth but it’d set me up for a fail on our second date. Not sure how I’d top Paris.”

He was already thinking of a second date.

I liked that too.

But I liked his words better because it was cool to know he could be funny.

I couldn’t help it and didn’t know why I would try.

I laughed.

He kept grinning while I did it and scooted closer to me so our knees were touching.

“So tell me, Millie, what d’you wanna do?” he asked when I quit laughing.

“I wanna see what you wanna do,” I told him.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

I looked into his eyes through the dark and felt something strange. Not a bad strange. A happy one.

Comfortable. Safe.

Yes, both of those just looking into his eyes.

“So, do you wanna go to Paris?” I asked. “I mean, one day.”

“Sure,” he told me. “Though, not top on my list.”

“What’s top on your list?”

“Ridin’ ’cross Australia.”

“Riding?” I asked.

“On my bike.”

I felt my eyes get big. “You mean, the motorcycle kind?”

He put pressure on my knee as he gave me another grin. “I’m the kinda guy, Millie, who doesn’t acknowledge there is another kind of bike.”

Absolutely for sure, my parents would not approve of this guy.

And absolutely for sure, I so totally did.

“So you have a bike?” I pushed.

“Harley,” he told me.

“Do I get to ride on it tomorrow?” I went on, not bothering to filter the excitement out of my question.

He stared into my eyes.

“Absolutely,” he answered.

I smiled at him and I knew it was big.

His gaze dropped to my mouth and when it did, my legs started tingling again. But this time, the tingles emanated from the insides of my thighs, out.

I looked away and took a sip of beer.

“Millie,” he called.

I kept my gaze to the yard and replied with a, “Hmm?”

“Safe with me.”

My attention cut back to him.

“Never won’t be, babe,” he went on softly. “Not ever. Hear?”