Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jonah

Jonah didn’t think through how it would feel to be crammed into his eight-seater Pathfinder with half a handful of cheerleaders, Ryan, two of Ryan’s friends, Waverly in the car seat, and Evie riding copilot.

Domestic was the word that came to mind. And if he were hard-pressed to pick a second word it would be comfortable. Not that he’d mention either of those things to Evie—she seemed to be struggling enough with the idea of being friends who’d seen each other naked, and he didn’t want to add friends who had more than friendly feelings to the mix.

Only that’s what his feelings had become—more than friendly. He still liked feuding with her. She was adorable when she was pissy. And he liked flirting with her because she got frazzled. But most of all, he liked being with her.

He wasn’t so sure how she felt about the rate at which things were transpiring, but she couldn’t seem to stop sneaking glances at him as they drove. Kind of like how he could see Camila and Ryan sneaking peeks every time they thought the other wasn’t looking.

In fact, the two teens, who usually couldn’t stop talking on car trips, were suspiciously avoiding each other. Dexter, on the other hand, had no problem chatting up Camila—who was chatting back.

Every time Dexter would say something to Camila, Ryan would grit his teeth. In fact, he seemed so ticked at the unfolding of events that he’d changed seats with another kid who was a row between him and the lovebirds.

Poor kid.

“So are you two going to get married?” one of Camila’s friends, Kira, asked while poking her head between the two front seats.

Evie gasped. “What?”

“Moira told my grandma who told my mom, that you and Mr. Stark were marriage material. So are you going to get married?”

Evie looked at him, her eyes big and pleading.

“We’re just taking things day by day,” he said, then placed a hand on Evie’s thigh. She nearly jumped right out of her seat. “Right, babe?”

Evie’s eyes narrowed as she took his hand and squeezed—hard. “Right, babe.”

“Gross,” Camila said from the back of the car. “Can you not?”

“Yeah,” Ryan jumped in. “Seriously, Dad?”

Jonah gave Evie’s hand a gentle got-ya squeeze, then let go. She rolled her eyes. Kira sat back, looking disappointed that the fanfare was over. She wasn’t the only one disappointed.

…

Evie sat on the bleachers of the university’s basketball court, surrounded by the sound of several hundred cheerleaders, a rowdy crowd, and Jonah’s yummy male scent and realized that, for a woman who was so adamant about keeping things friendly, this was the closest she’d come to a real date in years. Well, besides dinner.

But like the garden center, this was spontaneous, genuine, and did not fall under the definition of fake.

Because of the packed stands, their thighs were pressed against each other, and their arms brushed every time one of them so much as breathed. And she was breathing a lot—hard and heavy. Because every time they brushed her body zinged and her brain misfired. And she was in her barista uniform. A ridiculous “Get Your Grind On’tank, with coffee cups on her leggings, while Jonah looked dashing in his button-down shirt that pulled taut at the shoulders as he wrapped his arms around Waverly.

His other arm rested on his thigh, placing his hand within holding range. All she’d have to do was move hers a fraction of an inch to the left and their pinkies would touch. And the thought of that had more than her hormones buzzing, it had something deep down, something warm yet unfamiliar, blooming. Something that if nurtured could grow and blossom.

Her dad had once told her that romance was the everyday nurturing of love. And Jonah saving her day was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. Not that she loved him, but she was starting to love their time together.

“What’s got you blushing?” he asked.

“What?” She looked up at him and felt her cheeks. They were burning up. “Oh, just the sun.”

“We’re indoors.”

“Then maybe it’s the crush of people. We’re packed in like sardines,” she said.

“I thought it was because you were debating holding my hand,” he said with so much amusement in his voice she wanted to punch him—or hold his hand. The jury was out.

“Just excited for Camila to take the floor.”

“Uh-huh. Well, that’s what I’ve been debating.”

Her eyes went wide. “You have?”

“And it’s driving me insane,” he said and rested his hand over hers. “Is that okay?”

“What if people see?”

“Isn’t that the point?”

A feeling deep inside her said that wasn’t the entire truth. “Is that why you’re here and holding my hand? For people to see?”

No hesitation. No pause. Just one concrete word that punched her in the chest. “No.”

“Then why?”

“Because I want to. How about you, Evie? Do you want to?”

Surprisingly, she did. And it would be so easy. All she’d have to do was flip over her hand and they’d be connected in a way that was more than pretend. Which was why she took a moment to really think through the ramifications of her decision.

Holding hands was such an innocent gesture, but that’s what made it so dangerous. What they’d done the other day was raw lust. This would fall into the affection category.

When was the last time she’d been affectionate with a man? And since when did she want to be affectionate with this man?

Since he came to your rescue.

Evie wasn’t in the market for a prince, but he’d made her feel like a princess today. And she wanted to keep that fantasy going—just for another few moments. Then she’d go back to Rational Evie whose diet did not allow sweet gestures, sexy seductions, or knights in shining armor.

“Just for show,” she lied and flipped over her hand, and when his fingers laced between hers it not only felt natural—it also felt somewhat right.

“Until it isn’t,” he said, tightening his fingers around hers.

Evie didn’t pull away.