What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

That wisp of emotion is back in Heath’s eyes, and this time there’s no mistaking which emotion it is— amusement. At my expense. “You were staring.”

“I was people watching, and you happen to be a person,” I say, trying not to let his eyes trap me. Of course, trying to avoid his eyes is tricky on its own, because my gaze wants to wander up and down his body, wants to wonder at the muscles hidden beneath his clothes. Knowing he’s a SEAL— knowing where, exactly, that body came from— makes him even better looking than I thought he was this morning.

“I can’t quite figure out what your problem is with me,” he says, tilting his head slightly.

I scoff. “You blamed me for hitting you, you lied about a dog, then you used my number to send me personal texts after taking a hundred bucks from me for no reason.”

“For no reason? My car was damaged,” he says.

“Yeah, but like— why a hundred dollars? We know it costs more than that. So what’d you do, just take an amount of money that you felt some poor girl wouldn’t miss?”

“You want me to…ask for more money?” he asks, frowning.

“No, I want you to stop playing games with me. The dog, the money, the texts, all of it. I want you to be a normal person getting into a fender bender instead of…this,” I say, motioning toward him.

“Interesting,” he says. “By the way, I asked for a hundred dollars because that was the first amount that occurred to me.”

I’m not sure what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I adjust my pegacorn horn; the headband had slipped ungracefully over my eyes during my tirade. I see that glimmer of amusement in his eyes again as I rebalance it on my forehead.

“And the only reason I asked for anything at all was because I knew it’d give me an excuse to get your number,” he says.

I blink.

Because did he just say what I think he just said?

“What?” I ask.

“Your number. I didn’t think a car accident was the smoothest place to ask for a beautiful woman’s number, especially when said beautiful woman was in a bathrobe, in a hurry. I thought I’d call you, tell you that I managed to get a friend— Jack— to fix the car for free, and then offer to tear up the check. Then I reasoned we’d get to talking, and I’d ask you to dinner.”

“What?” I ask again.

He doesn’t explain it a second time, just continues to watch me, still, stony, calm, hints of emotion that now seem more obvious than before. How does he keep them so buried? I feel like my emotions are bubbling out all the time— like this morning, in fact. Or right now, when I can’t stop myself from both scowling and blushing.

“So, I’m happy to tear up the check. I don’t want your money. But I’d like you to go to dinner with me,” Heath says firmly. It’s not really a question, not the way he says it. Nor is it a demand. It’s more like…a statement. Like he’s saying that the sky is blue. A statement, and because of that it doesn’t feel like a simple “yes” or “no” will do.

My lips part, my brows knit, I make what I’m sure is a ridiculous face (and one that likely isn’t helped by my costume). I can’t help it though— I’m stunned. Part of me is stunned by the effort he went to in order to get my number…and part of me is stunned that he’s asking me, the girl wearing a tin foil unicorn horn, to dinner. I don’t dislike the way I look or anything, but this guy is hot enough— and apparently famous enough— to get models and actresses. Why go for a girl who yelled at him in a bathrobe this morning?

“I don’t…think…I…understand…” I say slowly, finding each word only a moment before it leaves my mouth.

“Dinner. We’ll go somewhere. And based on what I’ve seen of your wardrobe so far, you’ll likely wear something both ridiculous and hot,” he says, and oh my god, he smiles. Like, actually, really smiles. The expression stuns me both because of how unexpected it is, and because of how perfect it is. The amusement is back in his eyes, but paired with the smile I can see that it’s not a joke at my expense. It’s playful. It’s cute.

Yeah, the guy who helped capture one of the world’s most wanted terrorist is being cute.

“Um, I…” I am trying to say yes, I swear I am— but everything about this feels like a bizarre fever dream. I hit a hot guy’s car, he tells me a story about a dog, he takes it back, he shows up here, he texts me, he flirts with me—

“There you are!” a voice— Bella’s voice— calls out, and I nearly leap into the air with surprise. I turn and see that she’s poking her head out the patio door; she giggles when she sees my wide eyes. “Sorry— everything okay out here?” she asks, meeting my eyes for a serious second. That’s Bella for you— always looking out for her friends.

“I’m…I’m good,” I say, pausing to really think on the word “good”. “Thanks.” This is the code we worked out when we started hanging out together: “I’m good” means there’s no need to intervene. “I’m fine” means “get me the fuck out of here now.”

But I’m good. I’m good.

I look back to Heath and see that the smile is gone— he’s back to the cool, stony expression, the one he’s nearly always wearing. He didn’t want anyone but me to see him smiling.

“Okay,” I say with a breath. “This is really crazy but…yeah. Okay. Dinner.”

“Excellent,” Heath says, and exhales. He looks me in the eye for another moment, like he’s deciding something, and then lets his eyes drift down my body with the same sweeping, confident gaze that he used this morning outside our cars. “Excellent,” he repeats himself, and when he meets my eyes again that smile is back, though this time it’s smokier. Hungrier.

“When? Where?” I ask.

“I’ll call you,” he says, then lifts his brows. “I’ve got your number, remember?”

“Right,” I say, nodding, trying to ignore the fact that when his eyes ran down me, I imagined for a split second his hands doing the same thing. “I’m going to go back inside now.”

“Alright,” he says, almost like he’s giving me permission. I take a step back, then another, and finally turn around. I’m very aware of the fact that he’s looking at my ass as I walk away, and very aware of the fact that I like it. I’ve never liked this sort of thing before, never liked feeling watched or studied. It’s always felt more like an insult or an invasion than a compliment. Until now.

I get inside, the warmth of the party washing over me, and take a deep breath. I need a moment. I hurry to the bathroom and dab at my neck with cold water, wondering if Heath has come back inside yet, wondering just how many of those potent cocktails I had, when my phone chimes. Another text.

Unknown Caller: Let’s go now. I’m in my car.

I stare at the message, then up at my own reflection in the mirror. I look like my mother did when she was younger— and I think that’s what startles me into the direction of sobriety. My mom would see warning signs all over this. She’s say that this is a setup, that I shouldn’t be alone with him, that guys like Heath are too hopped up on their own testosterone to be safe. That guys like this are too much like my father. She wouldn’t go. She’d play it safe. She’s always played it safe, ever since dad went to prison.

And…so have I.

So even though I probably should at least google his name to make sure there aren’t any mugshots of him floating around on the internet, I remove my pegacorn horn, tidy my makeup as best I can, and then head outside.

Heath is waiting for me in his car, the area around the SUV dimly lit by the running lights. I bite my lip as I walk toward it, trying to sort out if the feeling in my chest is nervousness or anticipation. I suspect that it’s both, especially when I realize that Heath is staring at me, making no attempt to look away or busy himself as I close the distance between myself and the passenger side door. I open it and slide into the massive seat, pretending like the angel wings on my back don’t make sitting uncomfortable. The car smells like allspice and soap, clean and masculine. I stare straight ahead for a beat, then glance over at him. His face is glowing from the blue LEDs on the interior display.

“Okay. Let’s go,” I say as casually as possible. It doesn’t sound very casual, though; my voice is shaky.

“Where to?”

“Anywhere,” I answer, shrugging. I’m not usually the kind of person who answers like this, but I can’t seem to remember the name of a single restaurant in my entire hometown.

Heath studies me. His eyes are bright even in this darkness. He then says in a sort of husky way, “Anywhere?”

“I mean, sure. I don’t— lots of places will be closed already,” I stammer.

“Do I make you nervous because of the car accident, or some other reason?” he asks.

I roll my eyes, but I know I’m flushing. “I don’t know. You’re just very…confident.”

“You’ve got to be in my line of work,” he says smoothly.

“Yeah, Jack told me. Well. Jack and like…the news.”

He nods in response, like hearing that I know him from the news isn’t particularly interesting information. “So we can go anywhere? Even though I make you nervous?”

I pause, but then nod, more than a little jittery as I do so. He watches me unabashedly, then puts the car in reverse and pulls away from Bella’s house.