Page 23 of You Wish
He must have taken a few dozen pictures that day. Not that he posted them on his socials. He’d broken a cardinal rule of letting someone in the vehicle. But he was willing to take the risk because she’d introduced him to Connor.
Speaking of rules: “None of them can leave the premises, and only he can drive them, but his property is perfect.”
“I bet you that he lets me drive one.”
“He was very explicit. Only he drives.”
“Want to make a wager?” he asked with sex in his voice.
This time she did laugh. “Pass.”
“I never knew you to pass on a bet.”
“It isn’t professional,” she said, channeling her best cool-as-a-cucumber tone.
“Sugar, nothing about you and me is professional. You can list off every boring detail of the itinerary but there is still this hum between us.”
None of it was real. You’re older, wiser. Don’t fall for his shit.
“You’re mistaking it with annoyance.”
“Fine. If you’re so sure, then why are you hesitating?”
“I’m not hesitating, I’m trying think what I want when I win.”
They made it to his private room, and he grabbed his uniform from the closet. It looked like a fighter pilot jumper, but with sponsor logos instead of medals. But those sponsors were like medals in his world. The better the driver, the bigger the sponsors. “Ouch. Wounded. Right in the ego. I might need CPR.”
“Pretty sure you need a personality transplant first.”
“You wound me again. But I’ll recover. I always bounce back—especially when I’m flirting with someone stubbornly immune to my charms.”
“Immune? Please. I had my shots in kindergarten. Flirt repellant included.”
“Great, then what do you want?”
Georgia knew better than to make a bet with one of the most charming and electric men on the planet. It was a bad move. But curiosity won out. “What’s at stake?”
He folded his uniform into a duffel bag that he’d brought with him.
“If I win? I’ll stop flirting. Completely. Cold turkey. You’ll never hear another innuendo again. Not even a wink. Swear on my espresso machine.”
She raised a single brow, the universalreally?of expressions. “You love that espresso machine.”
“Exactly. High stakes.”
“Alright. And if you win?”
“WhenI win, you have to have dinner with me. No discussion of the past. Just a time to get to know the people we are now.”
Her heart fell to her polished toes. “Absolutely not.”
“Look, we’re going to be working with each other a lot during this project. Not to mention when we run into each other at our mutual friends’ get-togethers. Don’t you want to find some kind of middle ground?”
He made a valid point. It was what was best for the project. Shitty for her, but she’d take shitty if it meant helping more kids. She stuck out her hand. “Deal.”
“Maybe we should kiss on it.”
“What happened to no flirting?” she snapped, not dropping her hand.
