Page 60 of Never Not Friends

“Fine,” the driver says. “Just get in, but hurry.”

Juliet dives into the passenger seat and shuts the door like she’s afraid he’ll change his mind.

Nate and Carly scoot into the back. Vinny slides in last. And then there’s me.

Standing on the curb.

I stare through the open door at the three bodies already occupying every available inch of the backseat.

“Em?” Juliet twists around from the front. “Get in!”

“Where?”

“Just sit on Vinny’s lap.” Juliet waves me forward. “We have to go. We’re holding up traffic.”

Another long, relentless honk sounds behind us.

Vinny looks at me with a smile. “Come on, Em. I won’t bite.”

There are sentences a woman should never hear from the man she’s spent twelve years trying not to love.

Sit on my lap is one of those sentences.

Thankfully, he doesn’t actually say it, but that’s exactly what he means.

I look at him.

He looks at me.

“Fine,” I mutter as I climb in.

But there’s no graceful way to sit on another human being in the back of a sedan while wearing a short dress. I turn sideways, trying to perch on approximately three inches of Vinny’s left thigh.

“Em, can you get in more?” A smidge of sympathy crosses her face. “So Vinny can shut the door?”

I scoot on top of him more fully, pulling my legs farther inside. The car drives away from the curb, sending my momentum flying backward.

Vinny’s hand catches my waist, dragging me to him. “Just sit back, Em.”

Right.

Sure.

A trigger warning should’ve come with this car ride and seating arrangement.

I’m in trouble.

Elevated heart rate.

Sweaty palms.

A breakdown of my entire nervous system.

I’m hyperaware of every single place we’re touching.

My legs angle across the tiny space between Vinny and the passenger seat. My hip presses against his stomach. My side curves into his chest. One of his arms is resting near my bare thigh, and his other hand is still at my waist—probably because if he lets go, I’ll launch sideways into Carly.

Which honestly doesn’t sound that bad right now.