What Lovers Do(20)

“So…” he scrapes his teeth along his lower lip “…this friendship will require shin guards. That’s what I’m hearing from you.”

I roll my eyes. “Pinch my arm. Whatever.”

He tosses a wad of money onto the counter.

I dig through my handbag and slide a fifty onto the counter, pushing some of his cash back toward him. “We split it.”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue. I’m not sure if I should be flattered that he tried to pay for it all himself or insulted that he didn’t put up a bigger fight and insist on paying. Then I think of our conversation.

Mind games.

Friends shouldn’t have to play mind games like lovers do.

As we make our way out of the restaurant, his hand finds my back again. “This you?” He nods to my blue Volvo.

“Yes.” I unlock the doors, and he opens the driver’s side for me. “Thank you.”

Before I climb inside, he gently wraps his hand around my wrist.

Oh god …

It’s nothing. It’s his hand holding my wrist. So why does it feel like everything? Why does it feel so hard to breathe? Why do I feel exposed like his touch just opened up my emotions and he can see right through me?

My gaze doesn’t go to his; it slides to his hand on my wrist. “Wh-what are you doing?” I whisper.

“I’m touching you.”

After a hard swallow, I manage another clipped question. “Why?”

“Because it’s too hard to not touch you.”

“W-we’re just … friends. Friends don’t touch like this.” I can’t find an ounce of strength, a true shred of resistance, so everything comes out as a breathy whisper.

He releases my wrist and traces the pad of his thumb to the palm of my hand, circling it with a wispy touch that sends chills along my skin despite the ninety-degree temperature around us.

“What if friends do touch like this? What if we make our own rules? Isn’t that what you suggested during lunch? Or what if we choose not to have any rules? Why complicate things with rules?”

Complicate? Is he suggesting no rules is … easier?

“Rules…” I clear my throat, unable to tear my gaze away from his hand touching mine “…prevent lines from being crossed.”

If he can’t hear my heart beating wildly against my ribcage, then he’s deaf. I can barely hear my own words past the whooshing in my ears.

One. Single. Touch.

Shep has proven that less is more—infinitely more.

“What lines? I don’t draw lines,” he says.

I choke on a nervous laugh. “Lines on the street keep cars from crashing into each other. Lines are good.”

“Sophie … are you afraid of crashing into me?”

Yes. I’m terrified of crashing into him. I’m terrified that I’ll misplace my self-control whenever I’m with him. Being with Shep feels like a chronic state of intoxication. It’s dizzying and reckless. It’s a preamble to regret.

I pull my wrist away from him and lift my gaze.

“I’ve never had a friend like you before,” he says with a smirk stealing his lips.

Another nervous laugh escapes me. “Well … that uh … makes two of us.” I slide into the driver’s seat and fasten my seat belt. “I need easy. I have no room for anything but easy.”

“I’m easy, Sophie.”

Lifting an eyebrow, I glance up at him.

Shep shrugs. “Am I proud of it? Of course not. Should I haphazardly share my joie de vivre with just anyone? Doubtful. Yet, here I am. So … when can I see you again? That free dog wash expires soon.”

Joie de vivre?

Who is this guy? I squint at him. “It does?”

Shep’s whole face lights up. “No. I’m not so subtly suggesting you and Cersei come into the store soon. In case I have to spell it out for you.”

“When are you there?”

“All the time … except when I’m not.” He shrugs.

I roll my eyes.

“You have my number. Call me when you’re ready to get wet,” he says.

With heat accumulating in my cheeks, my filthy mind leaves the station into dangerous territory.

Shep rests his hand on the top of my door. “Dogs shake and water from the nozzle splashes everywhere.” His lips curl into a smirk. “But … I like where your mind went when I said it.”

My head swings from one side to the other as I check my seat belt as if I’m not sure it’s secure. “My mind didn’t go anywhere.”

“It did.” He shuts the door and struts down the sidewalk, glancing back at the last second as if to make sure I’m self-combusting in my seat.

I am.

When I get home, domestic Jimmy’s in the kitchen, cleaning the sink. “I fed Cersei. And I’ll take her for a walk in a bit.”

I slip off my wedges and carry them to my bedroom. I don’t know what to do with new Jimmy or maybe he’s back to original Jimmy. “I’ll walk her.”

“Sophie, just put your feet up and relax. I’ll make popcorn, and I saved you some of the chocolate ice cream.”

“Why should I put my feet up?” I pause, my back to him. Did my sister come by? Did she tell him? God, does she know he’s still living here? Did Jules say something?