Get me out of this car before I say or do something I can’t take back.
Almost as if he heard me, the driver takes the next turn quickly.
Too quickly. Poppy shifts beside me, shoulder brushing mine, and I feel like I’m being tasered in slow motion. Her hair catches on the collar of my jacket, a few strands trailing over my neck like a goddamn temptation.
I freeze—obviously.
“Sorry,” she whispers, barely audible over the sound of my rapidly spiraling thoughts.
Her hand lands on my thigh to steady herself and I forget how to breathe. The other grips the handle above the window like we’re careening off a cliff and she needs an anchor. I am not a safe place to land. I am the cliff.
“Sorry,” she says again, lips shining in the early evening light. “I wasn’t trying to—my balance just—sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “It’s a small car.”
“So small,” she agrees, clutching her purse tighter.
Our knees are still touching.
Still touching.
I shift. An inch. Maybe two. Doesn’t help. My leg still feels like it’s burning. Like her skin has branded mine. I feel every tick of the clock in my bones.
Tick. Tick.Tick.
Every second is a battle. Every breath feels like I’m trying to inhale her perfume. Then she turns slightly toward me, voice soft.
“You smell good.”
My pulse jumps. “Thanks.” It comes out rougher than I mean it to. Embarrassing. I hate myself for liking the way she said it. For the way it made my stomach twist.
The driver clears his throat, a dry rasp that slices through the charged silence. I glance up to find him watching us in the rearview mirror, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Date night?” he asks, wry.
Poppy makes a strangled noise like someone’s kicked her under the table.
“No.”God no!“We’re roommates.”
The driver raises a brow. “Roommates, eh?” He winks. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re practically in each other’s laps back there.”
YEAH BUDDY BECAUSE THERE’S NO FUCKING SPACE IN YOUR CAR!
Had he not noticed I’m six foot three?
Poppy bites her lip and stares out the window. I swear I see her shoulders tremble from laughter, and grin myself, looking out my window.
Two more minutes in hell and we pull up to the skyscraper where Mile High Club resides seventy stories up, with overpriced cocktails, floor-to-ceiling windows, and the most romantic, mind-blowing view I’ve ever seen in my entire, fucking life.
The Uber driver snickers as we get out. “Have fun, kids.”
Not kids.
Not a couple.
Not dating.
I slide out of the car, turning to reach a hand back toward Poppy so she can use me as leverage and slide out easy. “Here—careful, there’s a curb.”
