“Hey.” I fasten my seat belt. “Thanks for coming. You really didn’t have to.”
“What? And miss your heartfelt declaration? How else would I know how much you love me?” he teases, knocking the gear into drive.
“Shut up, I thought you were Morgan.” I flush.
“Whatever you say, control freak.” He speeds out of the parking lot, gaze shifting between the road and me for a few seconds. When we reach a red light, he straight up stares, eying me up and down and spurring my self-conscious side to life. I changed into clean jeans and a long-sleeved V-neck black shirt before work.
“What you looking at, creep?”
“Your shirt.” He picks at the fabric of my sleeve.
“What?” I search my clothes for a stain of some sort.
“Where’d your friends go?”
I immediately connect the dots.
The fucker is talking about my nipples, isn’t he?
“Oh, for the love of God.” I roll my eyes, and he bursts out laughing at his own joke. “I’ll jump out of this car, I swear.”
He lifts a hand to his chest, nurturing an imaginary wound. “You’re mean. I liked you better when you thought I was Morgan.”
I can’t help myself.
“I liked you better last night.”
His eyes flare.
Then we almost swerve off the fucking road—I wish I was kidding. Will doesn’t swing the wheel back into place a second too soon. He was not expecting that. It’s my turn to die laughing.
“That’s for pretending not to remember this morning.”
He lets out the fakest laugh I’ve ever heard and clears his throat, careful not to look my way again. I can’t help noticing how tightly his fingers are squeezing the steering wheel. The tension between us has shifted. It was playful, light, and now? It’s back to thick and heavy.
Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Desperate for a topic change, I say, “I hope you didn’t have plans.”
“I could’ve.” He shrugs. “But I chose you.”
If that isn’t cute, I don’t know what is.
“Thanks.”
“You already said that,” he mocks, but he’s not nearly as confident as before.
We lock eyes at a stop sign.
“I meant it.”
He responds with a faint smile. That single look holds more meaning than his words ever could. It answers my question, informing me that everything is back to normal.
Yes, we may have been all over each other less than twenty-four hours ago, but I’m willing to bet Will’s never going to bring it up again. His reaction to my blunt recollection made that clear.
He most likely won’t give me an explanation. Because to him, there’s nothing else to say. It happened and that’s that. Doesn’t mean he wants us to date. Nor does it mean that he’s ready to change his beliefs about relationships. That’s not how he works. The thought twists a knife into my stomach.
We’re back to just being friends. Friends who made out.