Page 68 of The Girlfriend Zone

She lifts her leg slightly, resting her ankle on my knee.

I linger, taking my sweet time unhooking the bracelet with the camera charm, letting my fingertips trail over her skin. I glance down, and goosebumps rise along her ankle. My throat goes dry. I’m dying to lift her foot to me, to kiss her bare ankle, to brush my lips on her skin.

Instead, I let the anklet fall into my hand. “A technicality,” I murmur, my voice thick with tension.

“Such a lovely technicality.”

Then I bring the charm to my lips, press a kiss to the tiny metal camera while holding her hot gaze, and return my hands to her ankle.

Her breath comes fast as I put it on her again, my fingers grazing her skin as I hook the clasp.

She didn’t need it redone. It’s another reboot, another stolen moment.

But really, it’s another loophole.

When it’s on, she stretches her leg out, twisting her foot to admire the charm. “It’s like a kiss.”

I let out a long breath. “I wish it were.”

Her voice is soft as she says, “Me too.”

As the sun fades, we leave, and I walk her home. “When are you moving back into your old place?” I ask so I don’t ask other things, likecan I come up, anddo you think about me all the time too?

“This weekend. I only have a few things. I’ve managed to fit almost everything into two suitcases.”

“Impressive,” I say. “Do you have to use those packing cubes?”

“Of course. How else would one pack?”

“I can’t even imagine,” I say, making small talk, but also wondering something. “How are you getting it there? You don’t have a car.” Then it hits me. Her dad does. He’s probably helping her.

My stomach churns as I wait for her to say his name. The man I respect. The man I work for. I can’t cross a line again. I really can’t.

“I’ll just Lyft. It’s no big deal.”

I probably shouldn’t go there and acknowledge the issue, but there’s also no pointnotacknowledging it. “You won’t ask your dad?”

“Nah. If he sees the apartment and how small it is, it’ll just set off a new round ofI really wish you’d let me cover your rent, find you a place, help pay for things,” she says, and holy shit, it’s uncanny—her imitation of him.

I part my lips but I’m too shocked to speak for a few seconds. Finally, words form. “You sound just like him.”

She laughs. “Well, I don’t think that’s too surprising.”

It’s not, but still, it’s another reminder. “True,” I say, then shift gears. “Do you need a ride?”

For a brief moment she pauses, clearly thinking. “I’ll be okay.”

Not going to lie—I wanted her to say yes. But I don’t want to let on I’m disappointed, so I ask, “Will it be weird moving back in with them? And the loud banging?”

“Ask me tomorrow night,” she says.

That feels like an opening. One I know I’ll take even if she doesn’t need a ride.

We reach her place a minute later, and the evening slouches toward its inevitable end.

I wish I had another reason to make it last. But I don’t. So I say goodbye. And think about her for the rest of the night.

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