Page 14 of The Jellybean Dilemma

I slipped, starting to do just that, but he caught my arm just in time, yanking me toward him.

He frowned. “Jellybean, what’s wrong?”

I automatically shook my head. The secret had been mine for so long that sharing it now just felt wrong. Not to mention it would ruin the perfect image I strived to maintain.

I reached for my water. “Just thirsty.” My forehead felt as clammy as my hands, and I sucked down the liquid. Then I opened my menu for something to do, but it might have been in Swedish for all I understood it.

“Any idea what you’re going to get?”

Another head-shake. My straw hit bottom, loud noises erupting as my glass emptied.

Greg slid his full glass over to me. “You should eat something.”

I put my straw in his glass and sucked the water down, pleased to feel my temperature returning to normal.

He sighed, exasperated with my silence. “How about I order for you, and you promise to try it?”

Nodding, I snapped my menu shut, relieved to have the decision out of my hands. When the waitress came, I paid no attention to what Greg ordered, focusing on keeping my wits about me. Another glass of water emptied. Then I realized what would happen if I kept sucking down liquid—no way in hell was I going back into that bathroom. I frantically shoved the empty glass away.

Greg shifted on the seat beside me, seeming quite uncomfortable.

“You got ants in your pants?” The words marched out of my mouth before I could stop them.

He stared at me, amusement in every line of his face. “How old are you?”

I played with the paper holding my silverware together as a bittersweet voice echoed in my mind. “Papa used to say that when I couldn’t sit still. It just slipped out.”

“I do that sometimes, quote people I don’t mean to.” He shifted again as the waitress came back and refilled our waters. He gave her a full-dimpled smile before returning his attention to me. “We’ve just been sitting awhile, and I’d hoped for a decent booth to stretch out in.”

I assessed the situation with a frown. His six-foot-two frame was nowhere near able to relax in this small space. Hell, my five-foot-eight ass could barely make it without kicking the wall. And after being crammed in the car for hours before this, I understood all too well.

I peered under the table. “What if we—?” I swung my legs onto his lap as he froze. “Now you can spread out,” I said triumphantly. I didn’t have a great back rest, but I angled my body toward him, resting my shoulder against the booth.

He shifted again, his muscular thighs tensing beneath my calves as he stretched his legs. Then he let out a relieved sigh.

“Better?” My smile grew as I watched him relax.

He nodded. “Thanks.”

I leaned my elbow on the table, but the sticky surface offered no safe space. I gave up, then nibbled on my lip, debating if I should ask him what was on my mind.

“What?” Greg arched an eyebrow.

So, I just spit it out. “Will people actually believe we’re a couple?” His frown had me racing to explain. “We’re not exactly comfortable with each other.” I gestured to my legs on his lap. “Take this for example.” My mind flicked to earlier in the car when he’d raised the armrest, and I’d almost hyperventilated. “Maybe we should just say I’m a friend or something.”

He swirled his straw in his water, the ice clinking in his glass. “Maybe that would be easier.” His tone was dull, no emotion on his face.

A wave of longing washed over me. I was on a road trip with Greg, the man of my dreams. My legs were in his lap. What better time to take another chance? I hadn’t had the courage since the incident. Maybe it was time to try again, especially if Avery was right.

“What if we took our time getting there?” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe stay tonight in a hotel and practice the whole girlfriend-boyfriend thing a little more.”

He chuckled derisively. “Yeah, right. Good one, Rhonda.” He shook his head then turned to study the artwork on the wall.

Disappointment coursed through me, but our food arrived. The waitress slid a huge burger with a pile of fries to Greg, then set a matching plate in front of me. A chocolate shake was set between us, piled high with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

My hope rallied at the sight of that one shake. Complete with two straws.

“Thanks,” I told the waitress, then turned to Greg, who stared at his plate. “What’s with the shake?”

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