How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,32

saw that he already had his suit, on a covered hanger like mine, hanging from a hook in the back seat. I hooked my dress there, too. His stuff and my stuff, tossed in together. Just like that.

“I need coffee,” he said as I did up my seat belt and he pulled out of my building’s driveway. “This is too early. Do you have GPS on your phone to navigate?”

“We don’t need GPS,” I said, rummaging through my handbag. “I have a map.”

Jason blinked in surprise. “A map?”

“Yes.” I waved the folded map I’d pulled out of my bag. “You know, a map.”

“Why would we need a map? Are you Christopher Columbus?”

“That’s just it,” I said. “Maps worked for hundreds of years. They work now.”

“People got lost for hundreds of years,” he said.

“A GPS gives a false sense of security,” I argued. “I hate it. The signal can drop out, or your phone can die, or a million things can go wrong. A map always works, 24/7, in thunderstorms and power outages. It works in snow and heat and underground and on back roads. It works everywhere.”

He glanced at me, then back at the road. “You make it sound like we’re driving to the Apocalypse, not Cape Cod.”

“You wear a watch, Mr. Modern Technology,” I said, pointing, deciding not to add that the sight of his watch on his gorgeous wrist practically made me ovulate. “Why don’t you just use your phone?”

“Because I like to know the time without digging in my pocket.”

“Same difference,” I said, smoothing the map over my thighs. “Besides, it isn’t hard. Get on the interstate and head east. If the sign says east, you’re going in the right direction.”

“And then?” he asked.

“When you get to the ocean, you stop.”

He tapped his long, strong fingers on the wheel, thinking, while I tried not to stare in fascination at his hands. Then he made a decision and signaled, pulling out of traffic and into a gravel parking lot in front of a dry cleaner’s that was still closed. He turned off the car.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He turned toward me. “First things first,” he said. Then he put his hand behind my head, leaned down, and kissed me.

He tasted like mint and Jason. He smelled like sun-warmed, freshly washed male. My treacherous body went nuts and I kissed him back, putting my hands on his chest beneath the navy blue shirt. When he felt me give in he leaned in and kissed me even deeper, long and slow and thorough, his shadow of stubble scraping my skin, his tongue exploring me until I could feel a sharp pulse between my legs. Then he broke off, breathing hard, his hand still behind my head.

“What was that for?” My voice was a croak.

He paused, and I could tell he was as worked up as I was. “I feel like there was some tension,” he said. “We should break it up.”

I didn’t say anything. My hands were still on his broad, warm chest through his shirt. I didn’t want him to move.

“We should be straightforward,” Jason said, still not letting me go, his voice still rumbling, barely under control. “I’m going to fuck you later.”

Lust jolted through my veins, and every part of me woke up. My nipples went hard beneath my shirt. “Okay,” I said.

“We’re clear?”

I leaned closer to him, slid my hands up over his pecs toward his collarbones. “Yes.” I ran the tip of my tongue lightly over his lip.

“Fuck,” he said. Then he turned away and started the car again.

Thirteen

Jason

It should have been awkward. Really awkward. We should have sat there in the car together while this heavy silence sat between us, like the air before a thunderstorm. After all, she’d hated me for years, and except for one wicked makeout and one on-call sex session on her couch, I still seemed to drive her nuts.

But it wasn’t like that at all. I’d just kissed her until I was hard in my jeans and told her I was going to fuck her, and she’d agreed—before we’d barely left her driveway—but my tactic seemed to work. Now that we’d cleared the air, we stopped for coffee, and then I got on the interstate, heading for Detroit. And we talked.

It was surprisingly easy with Megan. I didn’t know her very well—except in the physical sense—but we had a lot in common. We talked about Holly, and Dean, and how weird it was that they’d gotten together, and