door, his chest pressing into my body, and I held my breath at the contact.
Fuck, I can’t do this.
It was sensory overload. So much of him at once I felt dizzy. I wanted to leap off his lap and into the parking lot where I would be safe from myself. But he was the sun. His gravity was too strong, and now that I was so close, I couldn’t get out of his pull.
He slammed the door and sat back against the seat while I perched sideways on his knees, my back stiff, trying to keep my breathing steady. He made an exasperated sound, like I was being ridiculous, and pulled me closer until my shoulder pressed into his chest. He wrapped the seat belt around us, folding into me as he did, and buckled it in.
The cab smelled like dog and gasoline.
And Josh.
His breath tickled my cheek. “There. Is that so bad?” he asked, his voice low.
It was terrible. So fucking terrible. Because it was wonderful and it was so much more than I could handle. He was warm and firm, and he smelled incredible. It made me want to rest my head on his shoulder and nuzzle his neck with my nose, and if I did, and he tipped his head down, I’d kiss him and there would be no stopping me.
I couldn’t even look at him. We were so close together that if I did, I was afraid our lips might touch.
I tried to relax. I leaned back into him, acting like none of this was a big deal while I secretly obsessed over every point of contact—the back of my thighs on his, the hand that he had set on his knee where his fingers absently grazed my leg, the arm he had casually wrapped around my waist.
It felt like we sat there for hours before the guy got in and started the engine.
Part of me relished every second, sitting there so close to Josh. The other part of me was tortured—teased.
If things were different…if my uterus didn’t make us an impossibility, if I didn’t have a boyfriend—I’d have kissed him right there where he sat, in front of Tow Truck Guy and Old Dog, and I wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
But things weren’t different. They were what they were.
The truck lumbered out of the lot and Josh held me in place, the muscles of his strong arm keeping me steady.
The roads were empty, the occasional cop car the only sign of life.
I tucked my hair behind my ear and licked my lips, not knowing where to look. I glanced over at Josh, expecting his eyes to be forward, looking out the windshield, but instead they looked at my mouth.
So I looked at his.
Our gazes flicked back up at the same moment, and our eyes locked.
Oh God, Sloan was right. He was into me. And I was into him.
And now he knew it.
The truck swayed and the driver fiddled with the radio, and Josh looked at me, his brown eyes hooded. I could feel his soft, warm breath on my face, the steady in and out of his chest, and my resolve wavered. I couldn’t hold my ground. How could I? I couldn’t even pull my eyes away.
His lips parted and the arm encircling my waist wrapped around me another fraction. The fingers by my leg slid over my knee until his warm palm cupped my bare skin.
The movements were subtle. So minor they almost seemed insignificant. The tow truck driver wouldn’t even have noticed it if he’d been looking right at us. But to Josh and me, they were milestones. Questions and answers. Risks and permission.
When I didn’t make him stop, his eyes dropped back to my lips, his expression darkening in a way that made me lose my breath.
He wants to kiss me.
Would he do it? Right here in this tow truck?
Yes. He would.
Because if I were him, unattached and without reasons not to, I would too.
My already pounding heart launched into fluttering. If he leaned in, I was physically incapable of turning away. I would let him close the space between us and press his mouth to mine. I wanted to know what he tasted like. What his lips would feel like touching me. I was losing sense of time and reality as everything closed in around us and became him, smaller and smaller, nothing but his face, those eyes, his head tilting, noses touching, breath on my bottom lip—