Page 45 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

“It’s called a bump-and-run, sweetheart,” he says, taking a step closer. Oh, no, mister. You keep that chiseled jawline and those bedroom eyes right where they are. “And it’s perfectly legal.”

“Legal doesn’t equal smart,” I hiss, backing up until I’m pressed against his precious race car. Great. Now I’m trapped between two oversized egos. “What if you’d taken out his tire? Or worse?”

He’s getting closer, and suddenly the garage feels about as big as a shoebox. “That sounds an awful lot like concern, sweetheart. Are you worried about me Lola?” Cole rumbles, and I swear I can feel the vibrations in my chest. Or maybe that’s just my heart trying to escape.

“Oh, please, stop flattering yourself. If something happens to you, I’ll be out of a job. What else would I be worried about?” The words are out before I can stop them, barely above a whisper. My eyes betray me, flicking down to his lips for a split second. Big mistake. Huge. Now all I can think about is our fake kisses for the cameras, and the not-so-fake kisses that followed, and how unfairly good they felt.

“I have a few thoughts,” he murmurs, his breath warm on my cheek.

Oh, hell no. We are not doing this. Not here, not now, not ever. Without thinking, I raise my hand and… SPLASH! My soda explodes all over him, drenching him from head to toe.

For a second, he just stands there, dripping and stunned. Then, that infuriating smirk of his makes an appearance. “I guess that’s one way to cool things down,” he says, his voice rough.

Great. Now I’ve got a soaked, smoldering hot racer on my hands, and I’m fresh out of soda. Just peachy. This is definitely not how I imagined my day going. But then again, with Cole around, when does anything ever go according to plan?

His lips crash into mine, and holy horsepower, it’s like every nerve ending in my body decides to throw a party at once. This isn’t some tepid kiss for the cameras; this is full-on, no-holds-barred, set-your-pants-on-fire kissing. His tongue’s doing things that should probably be illegal in at least twelve states, and I’m not even sure I remember my own name anymore.

I want to be mad. I want to push him away and give him a piece of my mind, but we’ve been on this collision course for over half a decade. My traitorous hands have other ideas, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt like it’s the last lifeboat on the Titanic. And let’s not even talk about the embarrassing noises coming out of my mouth. If anyone is recording this, I’ll have to move to Antarctica and live among the penguins.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Lola,” he growls in my ear, and sweet baby Jesus, when did his voice get so… growly? It’s doing things to me, things that make me want to forget every reason why this is a terrible idea. I swore off race car drivers for a reason. I just can’t remember why right now.

I try to say something snarky. I really do. But all that comes out is a pathetic little whimper that probably translates to “Please don’t stop” in hormone language.Real smooth, Lola. Way to show him who’s boss.

Just as I’m seriously considering throwing caution—and my pants—to the wind, I hear a cough. My eyes fly open, and oh, look, it’s the entire pit crew. Fantastic. Nothing like an audience to really spice things up. Antarctica sounds pretty good right now. Who doesn’t love penguins?

Maria, bless her meddling heart, smirks like she just won the lottery. “Well,” she drawls, “I guess this is our cue to take anearly lunch break. Come on, boys. Let’s give these two lovebirds some privacy.”

As the garage door rumbles shut, leaving us alone, I’m torn between mortification and a desperate need to get back to what we were doing. Cole’s looking at me like I’m the checkered flag at the end of a very long race, and all my carefully constructed walls are crumbling faster than a sandcastle in a hurricane.

“Don’t stop,” I hear myself whisper, and yep, that’s it. My last shred of dignity just packed its bags and left the building. But you know what? As Cole pulls me back in for another mind-melting kiss, I decide dignity is seriously overrated anyway.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus on a unicycle, what are we doing? One second, we’re at each other’s throats, and the next… well, we’re still at each other’s throats, but in a whole different ballgame. And let me tell you, it’s a game I’m suddenly very interested in winning.

Cole pulls me back into his arms with a groan that sounds like he’s been holding it in since the dawn of time. His mouth crashes into mine again; his hands are everywhere, and I mean everywhere. It’s like he’s got eight arms, each one with a PhD in making Lola lose her mind. He’s cupping my face like I’m made of china, but his eyes? They’re saying he wants to break me into a million pieces and put me back together again. Pretty sure my eyes are yelling,Yes, pleaseto all of it.

I’m clinging to him like he’s the last parachute on a crashing plane, my fingers digging into those shoulders that I definitely haven’t been ogling every time he bends over the engine. His lips are doing this thing that’s making me forget my own name, and I’m pretty sure I’m about two seconds away from spontaneously combusting.

He tears his mouth away—rude—but before I can complain, he’s trailing kisses down my jaw, and oh, sweet mercy, he found that spot behind my ear. I make a noise that’s definitely nothuman, arching into him like a cat in heat. Dignity? What’s that? Never heard of her.

“Lola,” he groans, and the way he says my name should be illegal. “What are you doing to me?”

“What you’re doing tome?” I manage to gasp out, sounding like I’ve just run a marathon in stilettos.

He has the audacity to chuckle, the vibrations going straight to parts of me that have been in hibernation since… well, since the last time we did this dance.

His hands are on a southern expedition, mapping out curves I forgot I had. I’m like a live wire, and I’m pretty sure one more touch will make me short-circuit. I moan, pressing closer, because apparently, I’ve lost all control of my body, and it’s decided Cole is its new favorite person. My mind tries to remind me that he always has been, but she needs to shut it. We’re not listening to her right now.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, and sweet baby Jesus, those eyes. They’re like pools of whiskey, and I’m ready to dive in and drown. “Lola,” he says, his voice rougher than a gravel road. “I want you.”

My brain is screaming at me to say no, to remember all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. But my mouth seems to have lost its connection to both my brain and common sense, because what comes out is...

“Then take me, you fool.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sound of my last shred of self-control waving goodbye as it sails off into the sunset. But you know what? As Cole’s eyes darken and he pulls me in for another mind-melting kiss, I decide self-control is seriously overrated anyway.

Who needs dignity when you can have Cole instead? Not this girl, that’s for sure. I just hope I remember how to walk straightwhen this is over, or the pit crew is going to have a field day. But right now? I couldn’t care less. Bring it on, Cole. Bring. It. On.

Apparently, that’s the green flag Cole needed to kick this makeout session into high gear.

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