Page 69 of The Lineman

I raised an eyebrow and whispered back, despite it being just the two of us in my truck. “What?”

He slurred through a grin, “I’m smarter than you.”

I groaned.

Mike giggled.

He actually giggled.

And somehow, it was unfairly cute.

He dragged his hand down my arm, sending a tingle I hadn’t felt in a while across my skin.

“Mike—”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “And you’re into me. Like seriously into me.”

I froze.

Because that was not untrue.

But I wasn’t about to tell him that, not yet. It wasn’t time. Not after two dates.

Okay, two and a half if you count Subway.

Three if you count our initial dog penis assault.

Still . . .

He took my silence as confirmation and let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh, my God.” He clutched his chest. “I knew it.”

I scowled. “Mike—”

“Elliot Hart likes big brains.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“He’s a mental size queen!”

I groaned.

“And guess what, baby?” He sat back, a smug expression on his face. “Mine’s huge. Like porn star using a hall of mirrors huge. Like World’s Fair prime exhibit huge. Like—”

I rolled my eyes and resisted banging my head against the wheel. “I regret every life decision that has led me to this moment.”

Mike giggled again.

I ran a tired hand through my hair, watching him out the side of my eye, watching the way his face was still flushed from the drinks, his eyes bright with humor, his mouth soft and relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before.

He was comfortable. Relaxed. Happy.

And . . . I liked that.

More than I should.

Far more than I was ready for.

We turned onto our street, and Mike pointed lazily toward his house.

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