drool on your shoulder, you might want to reconsider.”
He patted again.
Three tail smacks to the forehead later, Lexi slid on over, her legs daintily straddling the gearshift. They came to a red light, and Marc downshifted. Without thinking, he relaxed his arm and his thumb accidentally grazed her bare knee. He heard her breathing catch.
Neither said a word the rest of the drive, but the tension in the cab increased with every shift of the gears until Marc thought about pulling over and letting her take his damn truck. He didn’t do the good guy act very often because, well, he pretty much sucked at it.
But Lexi deserved a good guy right now. And he wanted to be that guy for her. Which meant that this thing between them could never happen. What she needed was a straight-up friend—and not one with benefits.
With a resigned sigh, Marc pulled into the parking lot and drove around the back of the school. Truck in park, he turned to face her at the precise moment she turned to face him. Her lips parted on a gasp, he went rock hard, and it took a moment to register that they were close enough to kiss—and she wasn’t slapping him.
She didn’t speak and neither did he, as he remembered just how cozy the cab of his truck could be.
“This can’t happen,” she whispered, looking up at him, and holy fuck.
“Then stop looking at me like you want to crawl in the back of the truck and get comfortable.”
She blinked, her eyes zeroing in on his lips. “Pretend that I don’t. That’s what I do.”
“I’ve spent my life pretending with you. It’s getting harder,” he whispered and noticed she’d moved closer. So he did too. And the second her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted for his, he dipped his head and—
“Shit,” he mumbled, leaning back in his seat and running his hand down his face.
“What?” She blinked up at him, all fuzzy and confused. “Why did you stop?”
Because I never should have started. Because you were my best friend’s girl. Because karma hates me.
“Because we are about to be joined by our grandmothers.”
“Oh.” She looked at the back window, and her eyes went round. Wedged in between him and Wingman, her only shot at escape was through his door, so she started shoving at his chest. “Oh my God! Will you move already! If they catch us like—” She gestured wildly back and forth between them as though he wasn’t aware that he was sitting there with the windows fogged and a fucking hard-on.
He reached for the door handle when she added, almost horrified, “What if they add you to my list of bachelors? It wouldn’t just be a one-time thing. They would get their hopes up.”
And he froze. Hand still on the door, he pinned her with a look. She had a problem with him being on that stupid list. After all the boneheads and stuffy suits, she had a problem with him?
“How about this, cream puff.” He reached his free arm across the back of the bench seat and smiled. “You agree to one dinner with me and I’ll move.”
“What? Why?” Her eyes narrowed on his hand, which had slid down to cup her shoulder. “That is a terrible idea and you know it.”
It was a terrible idea, on so many levels, which was why he persisted. “One date. To clear the air.” He’d show her what a real date with a real man was like. And there wouldn’t be any favorite-color-and-number talk.
When it looked like she was going to take her chances with the grannies, she added, “Just as friends. So, none of this—” She picked up his hand by the finger, unwrapped it, and tossed it off her shoulder. But her nonchalant attitude didn’t fool him. He could see her eyes frantically darting to the rearview mirror as the threat of orthopedic shoes crept closer.
His hand, now free, found its way to her thigh, where he gave a gentle squeeze. “Only if you beg.”
She looked over her shoulder and blindly batted his hand. “Fine. Lunch. Tomorrow.” She swore, and it was adorable. “I can’t tomorrow. I have lunch with Mr. Second Sunday.”
“Monday then?”
“Can’t,” she grimaced. “Drinks at the Martini House followed by dessert. There’d better be chocolate. I’ve got a movie date on Tuesday. How about Wednesday? Wait, anytime but morning.”
Marc took a calming breath. He wasn’t used to being wedged between other men. “Great. Wednesday night it is. Your