Page 39 of The Love Playbook

“Hot date?” he asks, wiggling his brows, and I scoff.

“Like I’d tell you.”

“You know, Lettie, if you need caffeine to stay awake on your date, he’s not it.”

“Thanks for that piece of advice,” I say with a roll of my eyes, “but I don’t have a date.”

“Why the hell not? Look at you.” He motions up and down my body, and I fight the flush spreading up my neck. “You should always have a date.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, ready to be rid of him. He’ll pester me all night about where I’m going if I let him.

“Not really. I just finished practice, so I’m done for the night. Which means if you want some company . . .”

“Want Iwantis for my car to be miraculously fixed so that I don’t have to find someone to bum a ride off. Speaking of . . .” Mybrow wrinkles as I glance over at him. “Jace has a truck, right? What’s he doing at the moment?”

“Uh, he does, but he’s currentlydoingyour best friend, and my guess is they’ll be a while.”

I tip my head back and groan. “Why does everyone with a car have a life but me?”

“I mean, if you need a ride, I’m available.”

“Of course you are,” I grumble.

“I’m serious.”

“Ha, no. I’d rather Uber.” I wouldn’t, but I amnotasking Chris for a ride. I’d rather hitchhike to Lockport and risk getting picked up by some skeevy guy in a white van who will inevitably dump my body in Loon Lake once he’s done with me.

“No way am I letting you take an Uber when I’m right here, willing and able to take you wherever you need to go. Consider me your personal chauffeur for the night,” Chris insists.

Why is he so nice?

I freaking hate it.

When I say nothing, he halts and places a hand on my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “I’m serious, Lettie.”

I exhale, turning to face him while I debate my options. I can wait a couple of hours until Brynn and Jace are available in the hopes Jace will take pity on me and drive me to my mother’s house, but then Brynn will ask questions. Ones I’m not sure I want to answer.

Or I can take an Uber, which will cost me at least sixty bucks, money I don’t really want to spend. Not to mention, having to endure the awkwardness and anxiety of riding with a stranger alone.

Or . . .

“Fine,” I say, swallowing my pride. “You can drive me on one condition.” I raise a finger.

He snickers. “Only you would have conditions on favors.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re not chomping at the bit to help me.”

He purses his lips, hiding a grin.

Does this man ever frown?

“You have a point,” he says with a wave of the hand. “Lay out your conditions.”

“They’re simple. You have to stay in the car. No getting out. And no asking questions.”

His brow creases as he considers my offer. “Are you going to be in trouble wherever you’re going?”

Only my mental health.