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“What about the minivan itself?”

“I will never drive a minivan.”

“You’ll have trouble hauling all those kids around in that tiny Porsche of yours.”

I roll my eyes, but a laugh slips out anyway. “We are not having kids. Plural. Or even one.”

He grins, wide and far too pleased with himself. “Sure,” he says, like he’s humoring an adorable but mistaken child.

I shake my head, fighting the smile that refuses to die. He’s impossible. And worse—he’s fun. The dangerous kind of fun that makes it way too easy to forget why I’m supposed to be keeping my distance.

“Didn’t realize you were into this mindfulness crap,” he says, glancing over. “You seem pretty high-strung.”

“I am not high-strung,” I snap, then immediately regret it.

Drew’s grin widens. “The only time I’ve seen you truly relaxed is after you wore yourself out on my⁠—”

“Stop it,” I cut in, cheeks burning. “We do not talk about that.”

He laughs. It’s a deep, warm sound that fills the car and does terrible things to my heartbeat.

“I’m glad you’re getting out tonight,” he says after a moment, his tone softening. “I hate that you’ve been hiding in that house.”

“Well, I don’t exactly have anyone to go out with anymore. Social pariah and all.”

“I’ll do things with you.”

“No,” I say immediately.

Drew shrugs. “I don’t have a whole lot of friends either. People around me? Sure. People I actually trust? One.”

I look at him properly for the first time. “You only have one friend? What about family?”

“Don’t know my dad,” he says, voice completely flat. “He took off before I was born. Mom died when I was a kid. Had an uncle, but he passed too.”

My chest tightens. “That’s…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, then turns and gives me that slow, smug, heart-stopping grin. “I’m fine. Besides…” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “I’ve got you now.”

I shake my head, fighting an unwilling smile.

We pull up outside the venue and the awful, floaty ambient music is leaking out onto the street. Before Drew can open his door, I reach over and tug on his suit jacket.

“Take this off,” I say. “And roll up your sleeves. You’ll stand out too much otherwise.”

He gives me a look but shrugs out of the jacket anyway. The shirt underneath stretches across his broad shoulders and chest as he moves. I lean over and start rolling his sleeves up myself, my fingers brushing over his strong forearms. The clean, masculine scent of his cologne wraps around me.

“Any excuse to touch me,” he murmurs.

I ignore him. Once I’m done, I sit back and take him in properly.

God. This is not helping.

The rolled sleeves highlight the strength in his arms, veins faintly visible. He looks effortlessly powerful, a little dangerous, and stupidly, unfairly hot.

“Better,” I mutter.

Drew’s mouth curves into a slow, knowing smirk, his eyes dark with pure seduction. “You like what you see, don’t you?”