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“She was cheating on you, and she thinks you’re the one who’s not relationship material? Surely you can see the irony in that? She’s the one with the problem, not you.”
“I couldn’t make her happy.”
“It’s not your job to make anybody else happy! You’re a great guy, Gavin, and any girl would be lucky to date you.”
He grinned cheekily. “Yeah?”
She laughed. “Well, now that we’ve psychoanalyzed one another, why are you going to Missoula?”
“Told you. I’m going to see someone. Why are you going to Missoula?”
The penny finally dropped. “So someone told you I’m going to Missoula? My mother or one of your sisters?”
“Your mother.”
“And let me guess. It was around the same time you suddenly had to see someone in Missoula, as well?”
“You could interpret it like that, yeah.”
“Seriously, Gavin, I told you...”
Glancing in her direction, he took her hand. “I know. But I’ve told you, we can lean on each other. I hear that’s how relationships work.”
“This is not a relationship.”
“Let’s see: I’ve kissed you, I’ve touched you, you’ve kissed me back, you’ve put your hands on me. And I’m going with you to Missoula. I’d call it a relationship.”
“A fake relationship, remember? And anyway, it’s not as if we’re going on a dirty weekend together...” Oh, no, had she really said that out loud? “I mean...”
He was shaking with laughter.
“It’s not funny!” she cried out. “When I’m around you, I say and do things...” Groaning, she rubbed her face. She shouldn’t have said that. What was wrong with her, seriously?
He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Babe, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than going away on a dirty weekend with you.”
“I’m just saying none of this is real. We’re pretending to like each other, to...to be a couple, to get our families to stop pestering us. Remember that.”
With his eyes on the road, he opened her hand and planted a hot, wet kiss right in the middle of her palm. She felt his lips all the down to her very core. “Gavin...” Was that sultry, husky voice really hers?
“How does that make you feel?” he asked.
“That’s not the point,” she mumbled.
“How does that make you feel?”
“What do you think?”
“Too chicken, huh? Can I...may I...tell you what I feel?” He glanced at her before he looked back at the road.
“You may.” Oh, my goodness, listen to her—she sounded like a prim schoolteacher.
He kissed her hand again. “I want you.”
“That’s not a feeling!”
“Of course it’s a feeling.”
“No, telling me what you feel would be you saying something like, ‘you make me happy’ or ‘you make my dopamine levels go all silly’ or even something like, ‘I’ll break my rules for you’ or ‘you’re all my heart ever talks about’—you can’t just say ‘I want you.’”
