Page 25 of The Pocket Pair

“I told him I wanted to break up. I’m just not sure he heard me. So I’m going to tell him again and make sure it sticks.”

Chevy chuckles. “Make sure to use small words so he’ll understand.”

“How about you? Your date sure ended early tonight. What’s that about? Was her skirt not short enough for you?”

Okay, that was WAY over the line. It was downright mean—to Chevy and to whatever woman I just basically slut shamed. Sorry, lady. I’m sure your skirt was just fine.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. That’s …”

“Rude.” I pause. “But it’s also kind of accurate.”

Shut up, mouth! You have exceeded your quota of embarrassing words today!

Mouth doesn’t listen. It doubles down. “It’s just, you know, you have a type.”

“You only think I have a type.”

“I know you do.” I count on my fingers as I keep saying stupid words. “Heavy makeup. Revealing clothing. Fan of giggling, wine spritzers, and puppies.”

“What’s wrong with puppies?”

“Nothing!” I shout. My voice is VERY loud in the fairly small interior of the car. My feelings, though, are even LOUDER. And they’re getting harder to shut up or shut down.

“Maybe they’re also brilliant conversationalists,” Chevy says lightly, but I don’t miss the way he’s rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are they?”

“Nope.”

“Then why? Why do you only date that kind of woman? All this casual dating just doesn’t seem like you.”

Now I’ve moved from simple stupidity to downright boldness. I’m circling very close to revealing the truth of my feelings. I best tread very carefully, unless I want to go full-on confession here. Which I don’t.

“I don’t think it is me,” Chevy says, his voice tight. “And I don’t think I’m gonna keep casually dating the kind of women I’d only ever want to casually date.”

My brain backs up with a traffic jam of questions.

If it’s not him, why did he do it? And if he’s not going to keep dating casually, what does that mean? If the kind of woman he’s always dated isn’t his type what is?

Could Chevrolet Boyd actually be ready to settle down?

And would he consider doing so with me?

You’re about to leave the country for the foreseeable future, I remind myself. Don’t get your hopes up.

It’s just my luck that Chevy decides to change his dating policy right when I’m set to move away in hopes of moving on.

“Tiny.”

He’s suddenly serious, and when he reaches across to put a hand on my knee, I freeze. Any movement might scare him off, and that’s the last thing I want. I love the weight of his hand on me a little too much. Even if I know it still means nothing. The sweetness in his voice weakens any resolve I have.

“You’d tell me if you weren’t okay,” he says. “You know you could come to me if you needed help?”

I have to swallow past what feels like a boulder in my throat. Stupid feelings! Choking me up at an inopportune moment like always.

“I know,” I say quietly. I know he’d be here for me. I just wish it were for the reasons I want.

Unless … something really is shifting between us. Because his hand is still on my knee. He drives the rest of the way home with his palm on my kneecap, fingers lightly curled. And I do my best not to explode with longing or wondering if it means something.

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