Page 197 of How to Win the Girl

If this happens again it won’t be a coincidence and I’ll have a decision to make about seeing him, but for now—I consider this one misunderstanding created by a jilted, er, lover.

“You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type.”

“Amen.” He squeezes my ass with his two giant palms.

“Seriously. Can you imagine?”

“Oh, I can imagine all right.” His hands begin roaming around my backside, squeezing and kneading and caressing the backs of my thighs.

Dang I’m glad I have on shorts. Glad I shaved, too.

“I want to get to know you better.” I’m still laughing, some of it nerves, but I don’t have the nerve to tell him I want to get to know him better because I’ve always wanted to date my best friend. I mean, I want my partner to also be my friend and the only way to do that is build trust and intimacy and…friendship.

Another time, Daisy.

“Anytime you wanna know something about me, just ask and I’ll tell you,” Drake tells me seriously even as his hands stroke my rear. “I reckon we’re gonna be good friends.”

Did he just read my mind?

Drake Colter, mind reader.

Not possible.

Now Idowant to climb into his lap and straddle him—but we’re in a public place and while I like holding hands and the occasional kiss…I don’t love PDA. No one needs to see me climbing all over him, least of all the kids playing at the other side of the soccer field that’s in the park.

I move my hands over his shoulders, pressing my fingers into his muscles, loving the feel of his warm skin.

Trail my fingers up the back of his neck.

“Daisy. Are you puttin the moves on me?”

I giggle. “Putting the moves on you? In the park? Um, no. All I’m doing is stroking your head.”

“It was a very meaningful stroke.”

But I meannnnn…he’s not wrong.

And that’s not all I want to be stroking, if I’m being honest. His big body sitting at this picnic table, legs spread, strong arms, looking all kinds of edible. On top of that, he’s worn another polo shirt with jeans to look nice and the effort hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Yum.

“You know what we should do to celebrate?”

“What are we celebratin, exactly?”

I tilt my head as I stare down at him. “Us. Surviving groupies.”

“I don’t know if I’d call Shannon a groupie so much as I’d call her a cling-on.”

“Semantics.”

Drake presses his nose between the valley of my boobs, warm breath breathing against my shirt. “Tell me what we should do.”

“You have tinted windows in your truck, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“We should…”

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