Page 89 of The Love Playbook

Shit.

My cheeks flame as his gaze slowly slides back to my face. “Actually, I eat with those guys all the time, and I’ll be stuck on a bus with them for six hours tomorrow. I’d love to join you.”

He drops down to the booth beside me, forcing me to move or get squashed.

“You sure you don’t want to get your order to go?” I grumble as I slide over. “I mean, I know how early you catch a bus in the morning. It would be a shame if you’re tired.”

“Nah, I’m good.” He glances down at me, lifting his menu to shield his face from my father as he winks and whispers, “Nice hoodie.”

I press my lips together harder.

“Well, this is a nice surprise.” Dad slaps his hands on the table, and for a moment, I think he’s talking about what’s happening between me and Chris.

All the blood drains from my face as I try to come up with an explanation of why Chris is looking at me with sexy eyes.

“All of us together again for dinner,” he says, and I release the breath in my lungs. “You know, I was just telling Barb how I noticed the tension between you two over Charlotte’s birthday weekend, and how nice it would be if you could become friends. Considering you go to the same college, you probably have a lot in common. Wouldn’t hurt to get at least a little friendly.”

Chris rubs his chin, his expression serious like he’s considering it. “You know, Garry, I think you’re right. I would love it if Charlotte and I could get friendly. What do you think, Charlotte?” he asks, glancing down at me, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

My smile tightens. “Yes, it would be super nice,” I say through gritted teeth.

Props to Barb for keeping a secret.

“Then it’s settled.” Dad leans back in the booth, the picture of ease. “Let’s get to know each other a little.”

Oh god.

I cover my face with my hands, wondering what I did to deserve this.

“But first, Charlotte was just about to tell me something . . .? Something about why you wanted to see me . . .?”

I swallow, dropping my hands to find both sets of eyes on me like laser beams?Chris’s amused, my father’s curious. “Um, er, it was nothing that can’t wait.” I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, waving him off. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Beside me, Chris’s smile fades, and I try not to dwell on the fact he somehow knows me well enough to realize something is wrong while my father grins like a pig in shit, stuffing queso in his face.

Our waitress arrives to take our orders, saving me from further explanation. I say a little prayer in thanks before she leaves, and my father focuses back on me again. “So, did you walk here fromcampus? I assumed you chose this place because it’s close?” he says, eyeing his surroundings.

“No, I drove, actually,” I say, my tone smug.

Dad’s smile falters. “You got your car fixed?”

“Yup.” I snag a tortilla chip and pop it in my mouth.

Dad flops back in his seat, and it would be comical how disappointed he is that he no longer has any leverage over me if he actuallyhadno leverage over me, but soon, he will.

“How’d you manage that? Last I checked it needed a new transmission. That was easily over two grand.”

I hum under my breath. “Lucky for me, I had a friend who was able to work on it for me. Got me a new one for nearly nothing,” I say, ignoring the fact that said friend is sitting right beside me, and the same said friend might actually bemorethan a friend now.

Chris’s mouth quirks. “A friend, huh?”

Slowly, he slides his left hand beneath the table, placing it on my thigh.

I suck in a breath at the heat of his palm, and my father frowns. “Are you okay?” he asks, eyeing me warily.

Covering the hiss of air, I lean forward and take a sip of my water at the exact moment Chris slides his palm even higher. The heat of his hand scorches through the thin material of my leggings, setting my skin on fire as he stops just shy of dangerous territory. “Just dry . . .” I croak, motioning toward my throat.

Dad grunts, then focuses back on the queso and chips while my cheeks burn. “Well, that was nice of them, I guess,” he says, though I’ve nearly forgotten what he’s talking about. All I can focus on is the point of contact beneath the table.