Free Falling for the Ghost of You by Nicole Christie Page B

my knees.  "I can't believe I said that!  I should go apologize."
    "You'll have to catch her on the road.  She's on her way back to L.A. right now."
    My head shoots up.  "Because of what I said?  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin your date!"
    "Nah, forget it,"  he reassures me, waving it away.  "It was me she was pissed at."
    I frown slightly. "You?  Why?"
    Zane glances at me sideways, eyes crinkling in amusement.  "After you left, I wouldn't stop laughing."
    "Oh," I say.  “Umm…”
    Helplessly, I start laughing and he joins in.  We chuckle together for a few seconds.  In that moment, I can literally feel my little crush on Zane grow exponentially.
    So not good.
    He stands up and arches his back, stretching.  I try not to notice how his gray shirt molds to his stomach to show off his ripped abs.
    "You wanna get something to eat?" he asks, looking down at me.  " My treat.  You can tell me all about how work was."
    I should have said no , made up some kind of excuse—I 'm too tired, or something.  Because I could sense the danger of remaining in his presence, the overwhelming temptation to say yes to him. 
    I'm balancing on the edge of something here, and when I agree to go with Zane, I can feel myself falling...
     
     
    ******
     
     
    Chapter 10
     
    We go in his sleek gray car.  I don' t know what kind of car it is—I don't care about that ki nd of thing—b ut it's totally luxurious.  I sink into the seat and inhale the heady scent of leather and rich boy.  Th e ride is ridiculously smooth.  N ot anything like my old Toyota, where you can feel every bump on the road. 
    And even the way Zane drives is sexy, the casual confident way he leans back in the seat, one hand on the steering wheel.  In control.  Hot.
    I have to admit, I'm not immune to these superficial pleasures.  Riding in this i ncredible car with this amazing-looking guy, I kind of feel like a celebrity.  It's a glamorous decadent sensation.  I could totally live like this.  We cruise along, listening to a classic rock station, smiling at each other, and talking about what kind of music we like.  Zane says he listens to old rock, like Metallica and Led Zeppelin; I tell him I like mostly anything, from song s in the Top 100, to Broadway musicals.  He doesn’t even make f un of me for liking the McPigs , a folksy little L.A. band.  I play one of their quirkier songs for him on my phone, and he asks to hear more.
    We end up at a cool little restaurant right across the street from the beach.  It's decorated to lo ok like an old beach house, with bright yellow shutters.  I love the circle windows everywhere.
    "This place has the best cinnamon rolls," Zane says as I slide into the booth.  He waits until I'm seated, then sits on the other side.
    "Really?  How's their clam chowder?"  I pick up one of the colorful menus and look it over.
    Yikes!  Their prices are crazy!  Over tw enty bucks for a dinner plate—p lease!
    "I don't know, I don't like seafood.  The pasta is good, though."  He leans forward and taps the pasta section on the menu.
    I squint at the choices, then my eyes widen.  "One hundred and eighty-one dollars for a plate of spaghetti?!"
    "What?  That can't be right."
    "That's what it —oh, the extra one came off! " I hold up my finger to show him the slight back smudge on it .
    To my utter shock, Zane grabs that finger and rubs his thumb over the mark until it disappears.  Then he wipes his hand on a napkin.  "I've been to two hundred dollars a plate restaurants before, and this ain't it," he says, balling the napkin up and tossing it on the table.
    It takes me a while to find my voice again.  I put my hands in my lap and force a casual smile to my lips.  "So , what are you getting?"
    "Chicken," he replies, without having looked at the menu.  "You?"
    "I think I'll get a bowl of clam chowder."
    Zane raises an eyebrow.  "That's it?  I thought you were hungry."
    Yeah, until you started in with the casual