Page 10 of My Fearless Fake Fling

Four:

The longer we rode in silence—and I’ll admit to careful observation of Lennon, who appeared deep in thought, lips going from pursed to the bottom being tugged between his teeth—the more it became apparent that he had not one clue as to what our next adventure should be.

Yet he refused to let me go home.

Then without any warning, and the both of us in sticky, damp jeans, he yanked the steering wheel to the left to turn us down a road leading to the interstate.

“Where are we going?” I asked. “Are you trying to kill us?”

“I know our next adventure, and no. Hard to show up your ex if you’re dead.”

“Well?” I asked snidely, even to the point of folding my arms across my chest and tapping my foot against the floorboard.

In what I discovered to be true Lennon fashion, he asked back in far too chipper a tone. “Well what?”

My eyebrows raised in my best unspoken “don’t bullcrap me.” I released what I hoped would sound like a long, suffering breath. “Where are we going?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see, ye of little faith.”

Part of me wanted to laugh. Lennon, it seemed, could be adorably charming when he wanted to be. Which for me to say was saying something. Especially in the face of being forced to participate in another one of his ridiculous adventures.

My phone pinged so much from notifications of my friends liking or commenting on that darn video, I had to turn the notifications off.

When I didn’t protest any longer about our next destination, he let me know how my acquiescence pleased him by reaching his hand over to squeeze my knee affectionately, then grasped and held my hand. Another very real boyfriend move for a fake boyfriend to make. And I secretly loved every touch. Big ol’ screaming crush and all.

When he finally exited the interstate via the deserted off-ramp, to the left of us, trees and road. To the right, trees and road.

He turned right, which meant he had to have some idea of where we were headed. Up ahead I saw what looked to be the beginnings of a town carved out from the forest. But the closer we got, it looked more like a town in which the people hadstartedto carve it out, found it too difficult, and abandoned the location.

“You brought me to a ghost town?” Not sure how I felt about this newest adventure.

“No.” He laughed. “But that’s a great idea to add to the list.”

“Gee, thanks,” I murmured.

He let go of my hand, lifted his to wipe away the line of sweat formed above his upper lip, and adjusted the air conditioning. Then he pointed to an old filling station that may or may not have still dispensed gasoline.

“Our next adventure is a gas station?” I asked incredulously. Because really, how else could one ask that sort of question?

“No, sweetheart, it’s not the gas station we want—it’s what’s inside.”

Len clicked on his blinker despite being the only car around for miles, then slowed and turned into the parking lot, proceeding behind the building where I was actually surprised to see several cars parked. And he pulled into a spot next to a black Chevy Silverado.

But before I got my door open, Len leaned over to me, pulling my head closer to him by my chin and dropped a quick, sweet kiss on my lips.

Really? What part of my screaming crush did he not pick up on? It felt as noticeable as the nose on my face. Just as fast, he released my chin and hopped out of the cab, leaving me sitting stunned again as he approached an old door that lacked the ability to close properly, leaving about an inch gap between the wood of the door and the frame.

When he turned back around to me, it was with a smirk firmly in place. Oh, he was so cruising for a punch to the gonads.

“You coming?” he asked, his voice full of cheek. And worse, the jerkface didn’t even wait for me, pulling on the handle and proceeding inside.

I slid from the truck, running to catch up. Lennon wasted no time, already at the order window with his wallet out handing the girl on the other side a twenty-dollar bill.

“’Bout time,” he teased. “Maybe find us a seat instead of standing there?”

Grr… cheeky cuteness—otherwise known as theworstkind of cuteness because of it being thebestkind of cuteness.

Nodding seemed the smartest course of action as I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss to begin with and him being all Lennon… Only bad could come from this crush. Very, very bad…

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