Marin blinks.
I blink.
Viv lifts her chin like she delivered a TED Talk before leading the charge back to the table.
“We’ve got it all covered, ladies.” Len smiles, stuffing a card back into his wallet while Viv’s date grumbles something about it being the 21st century and halfsies are an acceptable and even feminist choice to make.
Noah’s waiting near the curb, one hand stuffed into the pocket of a worn Carhartt jacket, the other dragging along the back of his neck like he’s trying to decide if he’s about to offer me a ride or propose a joint savings account.
“Can I drive you home?” He sounds almost sheepish.
I nod before I can overthink it. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”
Behind me, the others are waving like it’s the last scene of Grease. Viv mouths “Empire moment” and does a very committed hip thrust before Marin elbows her with surgical precision.
I pretend not to notice as Noah opens the passenger door for me like some forgotten gentleman from a decade I’m pretty sure none of us actually lived through.
Once I’m in and buckled, he slides behind the wheel and glances over, a half-smile playing at his lips.
He looks at Viv waving and smiling with some kind of “knowing” look on her face. “Your friends are subtle.”
“Oh yeah,” I deadpan. “They specialize in quiet dignity and zero public embarrassment.”
He laughs, low and warm, before pulling his large pickup truck onto the road.
We drive in silence for a few seconds, just enough to make me hyper aware of everything: the heat in the car, the way his fingers drum lightly against the steering wheel, the smell of soap and something woodsy that’s definitely not cologne but still unreasonably attractive.
“So.” He glances sideways. “You survived your first group date.”
“Barely.” I fidget with the seatbelt strap, trying to look casual. “There was kombucha pre-game, that’s what Harper said the kids are calling it these days. Marin ordered calamari and had no idea it was squid. I was emotionally unprepared.”
“You didn’t seem unprepared.”
“I was bluffing. The key is to say ‘hmm’ a lot and pretend you’ve had squid before.”
He grins and taps the turn signal. “I was impressed.”
“Really?”
“You made three different men laugh. Not at the same time, but still, pretty solid odds.”
I glance at him. “You keeping score?”
He shrugs, but there’s a flicker in his eyes, something warm and maybe a little possessive.
“Maybe.”
That one word is doing a lot of heavy lifting. My pulse skips like a teenager’s.
We stop at a red light, and he finally turns to look at me fully. The kind of look that lingers.
“I like that dress. It reminds me of one you wore in college to the first frat party we went to. But I think you paired that one with Converse, not nude heels.”
I exhale, a little too loudly, and look down at my lap like it’s fascinating.
“You clean up nice too. I wasn’t sure you owned anything that didn’t say USPS on the chest.”
He chuckles. “This is my off-duty look. For special occasions and mild flirtations.”
