Because she’s halfway to winning the bet and she knows it.
It’s my own damn fault. I’ve been distracted. Spending too much time thinking about her goddamn panties—the red lace ones are my favorite—and not enough time figuring out how to convince her she’s better off working at Triada.
My thoughts went completely off the rails the moment I saw her strutting around Meramec Caverns in my pullover. It looked good on her, and I’m not going to lie, the way my scent clung to her skin even after she’d removed it?
Total turn-on.
But that’s all it is. All it can ever be. I won’t trade what we have for a one-night stand.
Even if it means I’m forced to spend the next seven days in a constant state of arousal.
I pull a Twizzler from the bag and tear the end off with my teeth.
If Lucy’s halfway to winning the bet, then so am I.
This thing could still go either way.
The realization is depressing as hell.
I was sure that by the time we rolled into north Texas, she’d be ready to go home, but that was clearly wishful thinking. We left Amarillo and the Cadillac Ranch behind this morning without a drop of hesitation. And when Lucy drove across the New Mexico border, blasting BTS—which I know because she’s turning me into a K-pop expert against my will—it became clear that, like me, she’s in this for the long haul.
Or she will be unless I come up with a way to change her mind.
Right now, the only thing I have going for me is that my eye hasn’t twitched in days.
Talk about celebrating minor victories.
“A la verga,” Lucy whispers. “I did it.”
“Did what?” I glance over, but she’s too busy staring at her phone to notice.
“I freaking did it!” She turns in her seat, and I can feel her gaze on me. “I got an endorsement offer.”
Already? How the hell is that possible? Those things take weeks, sometimes months, to arrange.
But maybe that’s only true for established, respectable brands.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “What’s the offer?”
She scrunches up her nose, feigning shock. It’s a wasted effort. She’s smiling too damn hard to look anything but thrilled. “Isn’t it gauche for my former employer to ask about my new employer’s pay scale?”
So much for friends.
“Let me rephrase. What’s the product?”
“Tently. They want me to spend a night in their new Deluxe All-Weather Pop-up Tent and promote it on my socials.”
That makes no sense. “Why would you sleep in a tent when you have a perfectly good camper?”
She shrugs. “At least it’s a travel product. Totally on brand. Besides, it might be fun to sleep outdoors for a night or two.”
Says the woman who’s clearly never slept on the rock-hard ground.
“Please tell me you’re not really considering this offer?”
“Of course I am.” Her lips pucker, and a small wrinkle forms between her brows. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you don’t have the proper equipment for outdoor camping.”
