Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Oh no.
My heart thuds in my chest, kicking up speed. "Where?"
“It’s a rooftop bar. I think it’s called Mile High Club on Fifth—but I have to double check again.”
Of course it is.
Goddamn, Luca, that double-crossing, matchmaking shit-stirrer.
"That’s where I’m headed.”
Her eyebrows lift. "Really?"
"Yeah. What a coincidence."
She lets out a nervous little laugh and glances down, brushing her thumb along the edge of her brown clutch, fiddling with the gold buckle. “This town is already starting to feel small.”
I can’t stop looking at her.
At the way her long hair whisks around her shoulders. I’ve seen this woman nearly naked, and somehow, this outfit is worse. Or better. And suddenly I’m very aware of the fact that she lives just down the hall. For once, it sure would be nice to see her in a pair of nasty pajamas.
"It sure does feel small," I murmur. "Do you… want to share a ride?"
Her gaze flicks up to meet mine, soft and hesitant. "Only if you don’t mind. Since we’re going to the same place."
"I don’t mind."
A small pause.
Then a nod. "Great."
"I’ll order the car," I say, reaching for my phone, trying to keep my hands from freaking out.
Poppy watches several seconds, eyes trained on my fingers before glancing away, the quiet between us is so awkward but in reality, we're just two people going to the same place.
Two roommates hanging out!
The Uber arrives three minutes later and we both groan when a tiny, black eco-friendly compact car pulls up to the house that looks as if it were designed by someone who’s never met a tall person.
Fanfuckingtastic.
Poppy hesitates when the driver leans over the seat to confirm my identity, giving us a smile when I pull open the back passenger door.
“This doesn’t look very roomy,” Poppy mumbles. “It’s like a tin can.”
Indeed it does look like a tin can.
If we get clipped before we reach our destination, we’re toast. Done. Chopped liver.
I gesture for her to climb in. “Ladies first.”
She slides in as far as she can scoot—which isn’t far—and fumbles for the seatbelt. The buckle clinks, metal scraping plastic, but the strap’s twisted behind her. She tugs again, brows furrowing, then glances at me with a bemused smile.
“It’s stuck.”
I lean in automatically. “Here, let me—”
My hand brushes hers as I reach around her side to untwist the belt, and the second our fingers touch, my whole body locks up. Her perfume hits me, something soft and sweet, and it’s game over.
The space is too tight.
My thigh’s pressed to hers. Her hip bumps mine. We’re packed in like sardines and there’s nowhere to go, no room to breathe, no safe place to look.
Thus, I keep my hands in my lap, fingers curled into my palms, staring at the back of the driver, boring holes into his head, willing him to drive faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Get me out of this car before I say or do something I can’t take back.
Almost as if he heard me, the driver takes the next turn quickly.
Too quickly. Poppy shifts beside me, shoulder brushing mine, and I feel like I’m being tasered in slow motion. Her hair catches on the collar of my jacket, a few strands trailing over my neck like a goddamn temptation.
I freeze—obviously.
“Sorry,” she whispers, barely audible over the sound of my rapidly spiraling thoughts.
Her hand lands on my thigh to steady herself and I forget how to breathe. The other grips the handle above the window like we’re careening off a cliff and she needs an anchor. I am not a safe place to land. I am the cliff.
“Sorry,” she says again, lips shining in the early evening light. “I wasn’t trying to—my balance just—sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “It’s a small car.”
“So small,” she agrees, clutching her purse tighter.
Our knees are still touching.
Still touching.
I shift. An inch. Maybe two. Doesn’t help. My leg still feels like it’s burning. Like her skin has branded mine. I feel every tick of the clock in my bones.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Every second is a battle. Every breath feels like I’m trying to inhale her perfume. Then she turns slightly toward me, voice soft.
“You smell good.”
My pulse jumps. “Thanks.” It comes out rougher than I mean it to. Embarrassing. I hate myself for liking the way she said it. For the way it made my stomach twist.
The driver clears his throat, a dry rasp that slices through the charged silence. I glance up to find him watching us in the rearview mirror, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Date night?” he asks, wry.
Poppy makes a strangled noise like someone’s kicked her under the table.
“No.” God no! “We’re roommates.”
The driver raises a brow. “Roommates, eh?” He winks. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re practically in each other’s laps back there.”
YEAH BUDDY BECAUSE THERE’S NO FUCKING SPACE IN YOUR CAR!
Had he not noticed I’m six foot three?
Poppy bites her lip and stares out the window. I swear I see her shoulders tremble from laughter, and grin myself, looking out my window.