Page 21 of Wicked Heat

“You didn’t pop up. I got some 512 number instead.”

“Pop up? You mean, I’m in your contacts?”

I silently curse. “Nikki put you in.”

“Oh.” I can practically hear the frown in his voice.

“Is that a problem?” I snap.

“What? No. God, no. I was only wondering why.”

Because I asked her to.

I don’t tell him that, though. “A college friend had her wedding in Marfa.”

He chuckles. “Those famous lights.”

“It really was pretty,” I say, remembering the stunning night sky of that small, Texas town. “Anyway, Nikki said you were in West Texas that week, too. Nearby at some test track. She thought I should have your number in case I needed help or, I don’t know, whatever.”

More accurately, I had suggested Ash as my emergency contact, and Nikki had thought that was a stellar idea. I don’t tell Ash that part. Especially since I never got up the nerve to call him.

“She probably gave you my personal number. I’m calling from a work line. Is that a problem?” he adds, mimicking my earlier question.

“Nope. No problem.”

“The wedding would have been, what? A couple of months ago?”

“Yeah.” A bit more than that, actually. Why?”

“Just that it’s a shame you didn’t ring me up.”

“Oh.” My chest is suddenly very tight. And, yeah, I’d thought about calling him at least a dozen times. And each and every time, I’d chickened out.

“I would have taken you for a spin.”

Oh. “A spin.” My mouth is far too dry. “Because those test tracks just go around and around in circles.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” he says, his low voice as soft as a caress.

I feel my cheeks heat as Aria crosses her arms and mouths O.M.G.

I shift, putting more of my back toward Aria. Somehow, I have lost complete control of this conversation.

“At any rate,” he continues, “I’m flattered you still have my number.”

“Yeah, well, I never think to cull them. You’d be surprised how many people are in my contacts that I’ve totally forgotten exist.”

“In that case, maybe I didn’t need to call after all.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, and I shift back to look at Aria, who’s standing there with her brow furrowed, like she’s focused on a jigsaw puzzle she can’t put together.

Just hang up, she mouths when I shoot her a questioning look.

I really should. But instead of taking the upper hand, I take the bait. “What do you mean?” I ask Ash. “Why would you need to call?”

“That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?”

Ari throws her hands up, then stomps to the table by the door where we keep the mail. I watch as she scribbles something in Sharpie on the back of an envelope, then shows it to me: HE’S PLAYING WITH YOU.