“Yeah. Carpooling.” I gulp, trying to keep from gasping in a breath. “For the environment.”
Oh my god, could I be any more of a goober?
Dan’s face goes shadowed. Then he holds out his hand.
“Phone,” he says, somehow conveying an entire paragraph, punctuation and all, in that one word.
I look down and realize I’m already holding my phone, flipping it over and over in my hand like a worry stone. Silent panic is setting in (and frankly, it’s about dang time), so I unlock it and pass it to him. He taps the screen several times, then passes it back to me.
“My number,” he says. “Call if you need to.”
I would not have been more shocked if he’d asked for my phone to record a TikTok dance.
“Thanks,” I say, or at least I think I say it. My ears are ringingtoo loudly to hear my own voice. How long will he be staying here? And can I avoid having a stroke for that amount of time? Will there come a point when I’ll get used to him? When I can actually look him in the eye and talk to him like the grown woman I allegedly am? Because right now the answer feels like a resoundingheck no.
My date—Gabe is his name—honks again. Dan sucks in a breath through his clenched teeth, the sound going directly into the black lace panties I picked out on the off chance that Gabe is cute and can put a few coherent sentences together. I cross my fingers for this as I turn and bolt away from Dan, because mygoddo I need to get laid.
CHAPTER 3
DAN
Iwait until I hear the front door slam before I stalk back to the living room. I stand just to the side of the front window and watch Carson scurry around the front of a bright red lifted pickup truck with a grille kit that looks more suited to an African safari than a jaunt through rural Indiana.
Not only did that motherfucker sit his ass in his truck and honk for her to come out, he doesn’t even get out of his car to open her door.
I try to put eyes on the guy through his tinted windows, but all I can see is a baseball cap and a pair of those stupid wraparound sunglasses that look like ski goggles.
Carson pulls the door open and climbs into the passenger seat, a big step up for such a short girl. As soon as her ass hits the seat, the truck starts chugging like a steam engine and pulls away from the curb.
I can’t believe I’m going to be living in a house with this goddamn ray of sunshine, with those jeans that curve perfectly over her ass and the thick strawberry-blond curls that drape over her milky-white shoulders, the tips of them dipping into her cleavage.
And I can’t believe I’m standing here, watching her driveaway with a strange guy who has a redneck truck and the manners of a teenage incel.
I shouldn’t care this much.
Ihatethat I care this much.
Wanting her the way I do is deeply inconvenient.
I need Burt to fix that pipe fast, because my life is far too much of a disaster without being this distracted by Carson Webber.
CHAPTER 4
CARSON
Iam roller skating alone to “The Thong Song.”
One perk of my verbal breakdown in front of Dan was that by the time I climbed into the car with Gabe, my Hinge date/punishment from Satan himself, I wasn’t the least bit nervous.
Which was great, because it left me free to notice every single red flag that Gabe pulled out of his pocket, unfurled, and waved around like a high school color guard champion.
First he took me to a burger place near the skating rink, where he orderedforme and picked the veggie burger and a side salad because—and this is a direct quote—“I know you’re probably trying to stay in a calorie deficit.”
Red flag.
He spent the entire meal telling me all about the customized features of his truck, including how much they’d cost.
Bright red flag.
