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It wasn’t working.

He’d been trying to help her. That was it. Her ankle had thrown off her stance, and once he’d seen how she was compensating, the problem had been easy enough to fix. He’d stayed back until she asked him to watch her, kept his attention on what she was doing, and treated her the same way he would’ve treated anyone else on the range.

Except nobody else smelled like Jodie. Maybe it was her perfume, or maybe she just naturally smelled like sagebrush and water and cactus flowers.

He inhaled sharply as he remembered her bare skin beneath his palm when he adjusted her shoulder, and the soft curves under his hand when he moved her hips back into alignment. Nobody else made him painfully aware of the fact that if he stepped half an inch closer, her back would be against his chest, and…other parts of his body.

Mac shifted in his seat.

For the love of Pete.

The worst part was that Jodie apparently hadn’t noticed a damn thing. He’d told her to breathe while he’d been standing behind her, trying to remember how to do the same thing himself.

Then she’d sucked in that deep breath and his brain had helpfully supplied several images involving Jodie breathing exactly like that for reasons that had nothing whatsoever to do with marksmanship.

He’d nearly lost the plot entirely.

But she’d been so frustrated with herself. Underneath all the jokes, she’d been taking every missed shot as some sort of personal failing, and he hadn’t wanted to make it worse by turning the lesson into flirting. She’d trusted him enough to ask for help. The least he could do was keep his mind on what she needed instead of what he wanted.

Even if what he wanted had been standing directly in front of him, smelling like heaven.

Mac groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. He was such an idiot.

He’d made the reservation at Lavender after Colin talked him into it, then spent the entire morning trying to figure out the right way to ask Jodie out. He hadn’t wanted to spring it on her while she was shooting. She was already irritated with herself, and the last thing she needed was him muddying up her concentration. He decided he’d help her get her stance sorted out. Let her finish shooting. Then, when they were packing up, he’d tell her he wanted to take her to Lavender.

A real dinner.

A real date, if he managed to get the words out without accidentally friend-zoning himself again.

Then Jodie had swung that rifle case over her shoulder and said, Pizza tonight, and Mac froze. He’d wanted to ask her to Lavender before she could suggest anything else.

Then she said friend dinner.

And there he’d stood with a reservation at the nicest place in town like a man holding a bouquet behind his back at a firing squad. The table was still being held for seven. At some point tonight he was going to have to call and give it away.

Friends. It’s what she wanted. Mac tightened his hands around the steering wheel. He had actually managed to friend-zone himself so thoroughly that Jodie was now reinforcing the perimeter.

Outstanding work, MacAllister.

He’d almost told her anyway, but she’d started arguing that she was paying. That had killed whatever was left of his ability to think clearly. There was no chance in hell Jodie was paying for dinner. She could threaten him with her vast network of pizza-place security contacts all she wanted. He’d figure something out.

Mac chuckled softly despite everything. God, she was funny.

Then he immediately remembered the way her whole expression had changed when he’d said, It’s a date. Just for a second, her eyes had lit up.

No, I imagined that.

Didn’t I?

Mac stared at the back of Jodie’s car as she slowed for traffic ahead.

Maybe they lit up.

Or maybe he was doing exactly what he’d done Saturday when she’d said she was overjoyed to see him every day—hearing what he wanted to hear because he wanted it too damn badly.

He’d thought she was blushing then, too.

And this morning⁠—