Page 22 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“Oh.” My chest deflates. I suppose we don’t know each other very well, and I probably haven’t given her many reasons to trust me blindly.

“But I’m willing to give you some slack. Very little, but . . . slack.” She shifts her feet, crossing her ankles the other way, and my not-so-pure idea rekindles with renewed hope.

“Okay, I’ll take an inch,” I say, moving closer until I’m standing directly in front of her.

Her body stiffens, which tells me my slack is running out. I drop my chin and catch her gaze, her wide eyes showing how nervous she is.

“One more inch? For show?” I tilt my head a tick in Amy’s direction, and Rachel’s gaze follows. Her lips tick up.

“She really doesn’t like that you’re standing this close.”

I dance my fingertips along her right knee and she twitches but doesn’t leap off the truck.

“You can have more slack,” she croaks, her eyes still locked on Amy, who I have no doubt is staring right at us.

I flatten my palm against Rachel’s thigh then match my touch on her other leg, gliding my hands up her body, careful not to pull her dress up. At least not out here. When my hands meet her hips, her head swivels and our eyes meet.

“She watching this?” I know she is.

“Oh, yeah,” Rachel hums, her words slow and almost drawled. Her gaze flits to my mouth but instantly flashes back to my eyes, as if she feels guilty she got caught.

Don’t feel guilty, Shortcake. I want to kiss you, too.

I lean in until we’re inches apart, then move my mouth close to her ear.

“Mind if I pick you up and take you to the passenger seat?” My fingers practically vibrate against her hips as I hold back the urge to grab.

I hear Rachel swallow.

“You may,” she says, her voice cracking.

“Hold on,” I say, sliding my hands under her ass and scooping her up into me. Her arms swing around my neck and her legs wrap around my waist, my hands covering the cotton of her dress along with some very smooth bare skin.

Rachel clings to me, her muscles working to squeeze my body as if she’s clinging to a tree to avoid a bear. Her hands shift behind my neck and her face tucks into the space along my jawline, which feels oddly erotic yet also tickles. She’s also close to choking me with her shoulder pressing into my throat.

“You know I lift four hundred pounds a few times a week. I’m pretty sure I won’t drop you.” I chuckle. Her grip loosens, but only a little.

“You said pretty sure,” she responds, and I laugh harder.

“I meant to say I’m sure. I got you, Rachel. I won’t drop you.”

She peels back, her arms adjusting along my shoulders, hands still threaded behind my neck, but her face coming into view. A soft seriousness plays at her lips. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s also clear in her expression that she’s not hating this.

I walk slowly with her in my arms, reaching with one hand to open the truck door before quickly returning to her body. My palm is on full skin now. The edge of her panties teases the tips of my fingers, and I so badly want to explore more. But I’m fairly certain I’ve used up my inch and then some. No more slack in this rope.

As I step toward the seat, her legs loosen and she slides from my hold into the cab of the truck. For some reason, I can’t hear anything but her breath. Which is weird because I know there is traffic all around us. Before I back away, her hand runs down the center of my chest, her finger hooking a fold in my white T-shirt. Her eyes trace her movement as she moves to the buttons on my open flannel, giving the panel a slight tug. Her eyes flit up to mine.

“I like this,” she says, flattening the button side of my shirt against my chest. Her flat palm lingers over my left pectoral for a beat, and her touch is warm.

“Me too,” I say, forcing my lips to close and not allow anything stupid to follow those words. There’s a double meaning there, and I’d prefer to leave it subtle.

I back away and close the door gently, feeling it click shut. When I turn around I let out the breath I’ve been holding and shove my hands into my pockets so I can squeeze them into fists without anyone seeing. That was some serious self-discipline I just displayed.

When I climb in next to Rachel, she’s biting her lip and holding back what I hope is a growing smile.

“You like making people jealous, Shortcake?” I’m sure Amy is fuming.

Her lip comes loose from her grip and she glances to the side in thought.

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