Page 67 of The Love Playbook

Chris chuckles.

“I don’t know,” I say, flustered with his eyes on me. “Help with homework or a school paper?”

“I get great grades, and I like to do my own work,” he says, licking his lips. “Try again.”

“Laundry.” Most guys I know hate doing laundry. “I’ll do yours for a month.”

He purses his lips like he might consider it. “Tempting, but I actually don’t mind doing my laundry.”

I growl, growing more and more irritated by the way his gaze makes my stomach flip-flop. “I’ll cook for you, or wash your car, or . . . I don’t know.” I growl in frustration. “What do you want?”

“I’m glad you asked.” His lips curl, and I already regret asking. “Go on a date with me.” I open my mouth to protest, but he raises a finger. “One date. That’s it, and if you decide you still hate my guts, I’ll leave you alone.”

I run my tongue over my teeth, thinking. It’s pretty fair terms, honestly, and it may just get him off my back once he sees how incompatible we are. “My hatred runs pretty deep,” I muse.

Chris grins. “Then I guess you have nothing to lose.”

Chapter 15

CHARLOTTE

Ican’t believe I agreed to a date.

The entire drive to the car garage, I wonder if I’m crazy. Even after we have my car towed to Chris’s father’s old shop, I question my sanity because he’ll probably take our deal and run with it.

I can’t even imagine the flack I’m going to get for this once I tell the girls.

Rubbing my arms to keep warm, I soak in the dusty garage around me while Chris slides beneath my car. The space is bigger than I envisioned, with towering ceilings, a separate office and room for inventory, as well as three large vehicle bays.

A light buzzes above me, flickering on and off. Cobwebs hang from the corners of the room like thick strands of garland. Retro stickers of car models, makes, popular supply brands, and oilcompany logos cover the upper half of the tin walls in a rainbow of colors while the shelves by the service desk sit empty.

It’s not hard to see the life this place used to have, and it’s surprisingly easy to imagine the life Chris will bring to it once it’s his.

By the time I return my gaze to my car, I find Chris watching me. He looks ridiculously hot in the old grease-stained coveralls and his backward ball cap as his pale-blue gaze sweeps over me, taking in the way I’m hugging my arms to my chest. “Sorry it’s so chilly in here. We don’t usually run the heat since the shop isn’t operational right now, but the space heater should eventually warm it up.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine.”

He eyes me like he doesn’t believe me before he drops the front of his coveralls and removes his hoodie while I gawk at him in nothing but the tank he wears beneath. “Here,” he says as he pulls it over my head, and before I can even say anything, he disappears out the door into the office. When he returns, much to my disappointment, his coveralls are back in place, but he carries a thick, brown Carhartt coat in hand. “Put this on, too.” He holds it out to me, and when I make no move to take it, he steps forward and helps me into it like a child. “It’s mine,” he clarifies. “I left it the last time I was out here.”

“And when was that?” I ask, slightly breathless. With him this close, I can see the snakeskin pattern of his irises, the tiny flecks of turquoise around his pupils.

“Last spring. I did some work on my mom’s car.”

Silence settles over us, his hands rising to the buttons by my neck as he licks his lips. My thoughts drift to the kiss at Danger’s party, and I swallow. I’m not sure if it’s the warmth from the added layers or the heat in his gaze, but I’m suddenly hot.

He fastens the final button, and I step back, needing some space to clear my head, room to breathe without him in it.

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, staring at me like he has something else to say, and something tells me I don’t want to hear whatever it is, so I tear my gaze from his and slide my phone from my pocket.

“Texting somebody important?” he asks, and though his tone is innocent, his question is not.

“Why?” I ask, after I shoot off a text to Samantha and the girls, telling them I’ll be MIA for the day. “Worried it’s Danger?” I smirk. When he grunts in response, my smile grows. “Jealousy isn’t a good look, you know.”

I’m lying. Jealousy looks fucking fantastic on him.

He scoffs, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Me? Jealous of Soccer Guy?” He shakes his head. “No fucking way.”

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