Page 39 of Stirring Up Love
“You read that stat recently.”
“Nope.” When he glanced over, she’d rolled her lips in on each other, squinting at her phone. Maybe she felt his gaze, because she looked his way and lifted a shoulder. “Numbers just come to me.”
“Poof. Just like that?”
“Poof, yeah.” She grinned, open and wide. “Something like that.” Then she was back to her phone.
He should leave her alone. They’d reached a truce, and more interaction could topple it. But she awoke an urge to delve deeper, explore. “Looking for more proof?”
“Nope. I’m choosing dinner. Winner’s prerogative. Anything you can’t or won’t eat?”
“It’s your call,” he said. “You won.” Later, he’d check the link she’d sent him, make sure she wasn’t feeding him a load of BS. But somehow, he trusted her.
“I won a bet, Finn. I’m not Satan.” Debatable. She set her phone on the dash and undid the belt of her trench coat. Finn’s hands slipped on the wheel. “If you have allergies or a strong aversion, now’s the time to speak up.”
An aversion? To hot women undressing in the passenger seat? He glanced over to find her fingers working at the buttons of her coat. Second button. Third button. He was no longer breathing.
“Vegan? Gluten-free?”
What? Oh,dinner. “Nope. I’m pretty much a goat.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Simone doing a full-body shudder. “Don’t mention goats.”
He chuckled, glad for an excuse to get his mind off her undone state. “Do I sense a story here?”
“Yup. You remember Tim, the guy who loaned you the booth?”
“I thought he loaned it to the Yarn Spinners,” he said, messing with her.
Simone blew out a sarcastic breath. “C’mon, we both know I lied.”
“Is that an apology?”
“It most definitely is not.” She paused, and Finn glanced her way to find her working down one shoulder of her trench coat. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and checked the mirrors. Turned on the windshield wiper fluid. Did not look over. Would not.
But Simone flapped an arm in his periphery, the sleeve hanging past her hand like she was wearing a giant’s coat. “Do you mind, real quick?”
She wanted him to help get her jacket off? Forget purgatory. This was torture. Eyes on the road ahead, the stalled traffic, the speedometer, anywhere but the inviting lines of Simone’s body, he reached across and pinched her sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. Tugged. The fabric slackened as her arm slipped free, and he let go on a harsh exhale.
Of course she wasn’t naked in the seat next to him.Of courseshe wasn’t. Right?
“Anyway, he’s a goat farmer,” she said, apropos of nothing.
“What? Who?” Confused, he looked over before he remembered she might be sitting there nude. But she was frowning at him in a tan sweater dress that hugged her body like a second skin, stopping midthigh. Not naked, but close enough.
“Tim Brewster,” she said, and his frazzled brain finally latched onto the thread of conversation. “He raises goats.”
“Just goats?” He was still trying to regain his composure.
“Is that essential to the story?”
Not at all, but he loved to needle her. “I’m your audience, and I want to know.” Finn switched lanes to pass a trailer and fixed her with as flat a look as he could manage with a still-racing pulse. “So, yes.”
She rolled her eyes. So cute.
Not cute.Irritating. He wanted to slap himself.
“Yes, to my knowledge, he exclusively farms goats,” she said, crossing her arms with another exasperated huff.Mission accomplished.“Can we move on?”
