Page 40 of The Enemy Face Off

"You know…" I tap my foot then glance at my trusty ol' Corolla hatchback. "We'd be having car-trouble-related sex."

He chuckles then quickly clears his throat. "We would be?"

"Yes. Duh. I'm a romance novel junkie, remember? Iknowhow these things work."

"I'm clearly reading the wrong genre," he mutters under his breath, running his thick fingers over his stubble.

I go to move back, but the car traps me in place, so I awkwardly sidestep past Milo to create some space between us because…what…what…What. Was. That?

I have no idea what just came over me. How did it go from Milo asking if everything was okay to me creating—and voicing—a scenario where he and I are having sex in my car?

Oh. I know.

His granite pec.

The reason it's so hard is because it's not actually flesh, skin, and muscle, but rather a portal to my subconscious mind with the power to cause me to blurt out my most private—and inappropriate—thoughts.

Also, I just finished a blue-collar romance series about a group of hunky mechanic brothers that each find love with a curvy girl. That could have something to do with it.

An awkward silence fills the air.

"I actually wasn't going to offer to look at your car," Milo says eventually, kind of looking at me, but kind of not looking at me, as if sensing I'm embarrassed by…I still don't know what that was…and giving me some much-appreciated breathing room. "Mainly because I know nothing about cars apart from how to change a tire. But also because I distinctly remember a certain someone telling me that chivalry is dead."

Normal Beth would insert a quip here.

Mortified Beth has the good sense to stare at her feet and listen to what he's saying while wishing Milo's rock-hard pecwasn't a portal but a time machine so she could go back and redo the last five minutes.

"So." Milo takes a breath. "I'm going to say this, and I hope that you hear it in the way I intend it. I'm being practical here, nothing less, nothing more. You and I are going to the same destination. I have a car that works. It's cold and starting to rain. It'll take time for someone to come out here to look at your car, and the wedding starts soon. So, I'm offering you a lift. I am not being chivalrous. I'm prepared to offer you thirty percent control of music selection, and you can pay for half of the gas if that makes you feel better."

A long beat passes.

I feel…I don't know how I feel.

And I think that's the problem. I'm on shaky ground around Milo for some reason, and I don't like it.

But he's right.

We are going to the same place, and let's face it, I don't have any other options. Because for all my bluster about being faux-offended about a potential offer to look under the hood, I don't actually know anything about cars, either.

I glance upward at the gloomy, gray sky. It's started to rain and the wind has picked up, too. I wonder what the conditions are like on the mountain. Is it worse up there, snowing heavier than when I left?

Because that wasn't a fun drive.

And Miloisoffering.

And he hasn't laughed directly in my face about my mini-brain explosion.

I take half a step toward him, keep my hands glued to the side of my body so I don't inadvertently poke any portals or time machines on his chest, lift my eyes to meet his, and say, "Music selection is fifty-fifty, and I'm paying for the gas. Deal?"

He smiles. "Deal."

10

Milo

"You're weird," Beth says, about five minutes into our drive.

The first thing she did when she got into my car was take full advantage of the fifty-fifty song selection. We've currently got Sabrina Carpenter playing, and as a twenty-seven-year-old dude, I've never come across her before. The track is cute and boppy and definitely not something I would have picked Beth as liking.

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