Coconut Grove I got my head out the sunroof, I'm blastin' our favorite tunes

She was flirting with him.
Unless he'd gone positively out of his damn mind, he was being flirted with. This pretty thing had dropped down right from the heavens and entertained him and his rambles with niceties; and he saw it, really saw it, that little smile as her voice lilted.
If he were a worse man; shit, if he were a year younger, he would have coiled himself around her wrist as soon as she said hello. He'd allow himself to drown, search for safety in those flowerpetal eyes and those dainty arms and morph into whatever she saw fit to do with him. And surely; surely, things would fall apart as soon as they came together.
But he wasn't like that anymore, right? Or maybe he still was. He didn't know, and now, as he watches the flutter of her eyelashes as she roves across his shoulders, his chest, he doesn't care. This was dangerous, oh, so dangerous, and yet he welcomed it. He didn't have nowhere to be.
He couldn't be so sure about her yet, but did he need to be?
How 'bout you come with me to the mountains?