Page 51 of More Than a Good Friend

I can’t even respond to that, so I slide into my seat and buckle up.

Once he’s behind the wheel, he shoots me a look. “And you look hot in that dress.”

Silence pounds in my ears and that line loops in my head. I’m so tempted to grab his arm and tell him I’ve changed my mind, but his “this just makes sense” keeps me quiet. I don’t want to be his dating instructor. I can’t. At the end of that course, I’d end up with my heart broken. Some things he just has to figure out on his own.

On the trip home, I don’t even bother to hide an earring in his truck.

When he parks in front of my cabin, we both stay still and quiet.

Finally, he says, “We’re still friends, right?”

“Always.” I stretch over and give him a hug. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“That guy was stupid for leaving. I can’t believe he just left you stranded like that.”

“I told him to go. There wasn’t a spark. Why waste his time?”

“Spark?” He’s looking at me like I’m speaking a foreign language.

“The stuff that makes your heart go thumpity-thump. Attraction. Desire. A spark.”

Lips pursed, he stares out the windshield. “Like when I backed you against that pillar. The vein in your neck was pulsing really fast. Is that what you’re talking about?”

How can the man be so dense and yet catch small details like that?

“Yes.” I open the door and slide out. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Sure. Yeah. Maybe.” That noncommittal answer has me nervous that our friendship silently ended without either of us fighting to save it.

After closing my front door, I lean against it, fighting tears. Saying no to him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Experiencing how his lips felt on mine made it nearly impossible.

Please don’t let me regret it for the rest of my life.

CHAPTER18

DAG

Iskip dinner because I’m not ready to sit by Goldie and pretend everything is fine and dandy. And I’m not going to the bar here in town because I’ll likely run into Regina, and that wouldn’t end well. I’m still mad about the way she talked to Goldie.

People often call me clueless, and they aren’t wrong most of the time, but I know when a woman’s attracted to me. And Goldie is, so her turning me down doesn’t make any sense. It feels personal.

Of course it’s personal. And when I asked, I didn’t gush over how hot she looks in that blue dress and in the red one. Or how amazing her hair looks when it’s kinda wavy and the light shines on it.

When I close my eyes, all I can picture is that pulsing in her neck. Making her heart go thumpity-thump isn’t enough. So I give up.

After driving up and down several rows in the parking lot, I snag a spot far from the dance hall. I came all the way into San Antonio, hoping I won’t bump into the regulars I normally see.

I grab a taco plate from the food truck outside, then show my ID at the door before heading to the bar.

The bartender flashes me a flirty smile. “What can I get you, cowboy?”

“Just a Coke. I’m my designated driver tonight.”

She fills up a glass and slides it down the bar to me. “On the house.”

“Thanks.” I settle at a table and start eating.

Old couples—like older than my parents—are twirling on the dance floor. There are a few young people, but most look like they’re over forty. I think I chose the wrong place to mend my hurt ego.

---