Page 61 of Never Not Friends

Neither of us moves.

I stare straight ahead, willing the car to go faster.

Then we go over a bump, and my hand flies down and lands on his knee. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” His voice sounds different.

I remove my hand, pressing it against the window for leverage. But his hand remains on my waist. I feel the warmth of his palm through my dress. His chest brushes my shoulder every time he breathes. My hair catches against the stubble along his jaw when I turn my head even slightly.

So I don’t.

I become a statue.

A lap-sitting statue.

“So whose birthday is it?” the driver asks. “Or was that just an excuse?”

I shift my head, glancing toward the front. He looks familiar. Really familiar. Dark hair. Wide smile. Straight white teeth. Even sitting down, he has the broad-shouldered build of someone who likes lifting heavy things into the air.

“It’s Emma’s birthday.” Juliet’s hands go behind her seat, patting my head.

The driver flicks his eyes to me. “Wait. I know you. You were at Starbucks the other day.”

That sends my heart straight to the floorboards.

“You’re the girl who⁠—”

“Yes!” I practically shout.

I’m seriously considering opening this car door and rolling out like they do in action movies. I think if you roll fast enough, you don’t get harmed. Now would be a great time to test out that theory.

“What girl?” Carly asks.

“Nothing!”

The driver’s grin grows in the mirror. “Your AirPods weren’t connected.”

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me.” I catch his eye in the mirror, silently begging him not to finish the story.

Something in my expression must translate, because his eyes soften. “Don’t be embarrassed. I thought it was cute.”

Vinny shifts below me.

Juliet makes a sound, the kind women make when another woman is being flirted with, and seeing this match through has just become her number one goal in life.

“So, birthday girl. What did you do tonight?”

“We went to the club you just picked us up from.”

“Good birthday?”

“It’s been a great birthday!” Juliet answers for me.

“How old are you turning?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“That’s a great age.” He smiles at me through the mirror. “Same as me.”