Carter snorts. "Yeah, 'cause nothing says romance like sweatpants and bumper lanes."
I shake my head, not bothering to correct him as I grab my wallet and slip it into my pocket. "We aren't going fucking bowling, dude. She's wearing comfy clothes. I told her to dress casual, because that's when she's the most relaxed, and that's what I want tonight. For her to be herself, not overthinking every second."
Carter smirks. "Damn. You're down bad, huh?"
I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."
It's the truth. I've been crazy about her since high school, watching her date other guys, waiting for her to see what's been right in front of her all along. And now that she's finally giving us a chance, I'm not about to mess it up by coming on too strong.
Carter whistles low. "Well, if she dumps your ass, I tried to warn you."
I chuck my sock right at his face.
I pull up in front of Madison's building, leaving my truck idling as I reach for my phone to text her—but before I can, I see her slipping out the front door, hoodie sleeves pushed over her hands, her hair in one of those loose, messy styles that somehow makes her look even better.
She's already walking toward me at a fast pace, and I smirk, knowing exactly why.
Lyla.
Right on cue, Madison's front door swings open again, and Lyla leans over the second-story balcony, grinning down at us. "Hey, Montgomery!"
I glance up just as she cups her hands around her mouth and yells, "USE PROTECTION!"
Madison gasps, whirling around. "Lyla!"
Lyla cackles, practically doubling over before disappearing back inside.
I shake my head, laughing as I rub the back of my neck. "Gotta admit, I respect her commitment to the bit."
Madison groans, pressing her fingers to her temples. "I should've gone down the fire escape."
I grin, tilting my head slightly. "You look great, Mads."
She exhales, some of the tension slipping from her shoulders, and she offers me a small smile. "You too."
I nod towards my truck, opening the passenger door for her. She slides in, and I jog to my side to join her. Without pushing too far, I pat the bench seat right next to me, inviting her to slide closer.
Her brows lift slightly. "Really?"
I smirk. "Humor me."
She sighs, shaking her head—but she smiles as she slides across the bench seat until her thigh brushes mine.
I grin, letting the moment linger for half a second longer, her warmth against my side feeling so right, so natural. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach for her hand, to intertwine our fingers.
But instead, I just shift into drive, my smirk deepening as I glance over at her. "Ready?"
"Yeah. I'm ready."
The way she says it—the weight behind the words—has my grip tightening on the steering wheel.
Because I don't think she's just talking about the drive.
She's ready to try, for whatever comes next, and so am I.
24
MADISON
