She looks comfortable, and she’s not trying to impress me. But I’m impressed anyway. Her eyes scan my own attire, and she asks, “You won’t mind if those clothes get ruined, right?”

“What exactly do you have planned for us today, Pickle?”

Her eyes narrow. “I’m going to get you back for that. Just wait.”

I step out onto the porch and pull the door shut behind me. “I look forward to seeing you try.”

The car she’s parked on the street out by my mailbox is a sleek steel gray number with smooth curves and money written all over it. I glance at my busted old truck in the driveway and decide that our vehicles pretty accurately represent the differences between us.

I can’t help but run a hand along the car in admiration as I round the front to get in the passenger seat. I wouldn’t mind running an appreciative hand over the car’s owner, either, but she’s been careful to keep a few feet between us from the moment we exited the house. When I climb into the car, though, it’s small enough that my elbow touches hers on the middle console.

“So what has Dr. Dylan prescribed for the day?”

She pulls out onto the road and heads away from the university.

“You can’t be mad.”

Not what I want to hear this early in the morning.

“Shit. You’re not taking me to some kind of crappy self-help thing, are you?”

“Not self-help, no. But there is helping involved.”

The mysterious smile she gives me is f**king sexy, and I reach over and trail my finger over her bare shoulder. She shivers, and I shift my hand up to brush across her neck, too.

“You’re going to make me have a wreck.”

I glance out the windshield. “You’re coming up on a red light.”

When she slows to a stop, I lean across the console and kiss the place where her neck meets her shoulder. She shifts away as soon as my lips touch her skin.

“Silas.” Damn. I’ve heard that tone before. I look up, but I don’t move away. If there’s anything I am, it’s stubborn, and I’ve not had nearly enough of her to be done yet. She says, “I’ve not exactly handled this in the best way.”

“Then go back to my place, and we can handle things right. Or pull over, I’m not picky.”

She rolls her eyes, and puts a hand on my shoulder to push me away. I go, but not happily.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Clearly, I’m attracted to you.” Well, at least she’s admitting it out loud. “But the thing is . . . we’re not dating. And we’re not going to date. So I think it’s better if we keep things between us as platonic as possible.”

“What if ‘platonic as possible’ is not at all platonic?”

“It has to be.”

“I think you’re confusing dating with being in a relationship. Dating can be casual. Dating is low pressure. Dating isn’t off the table.”

Fuck. I have to be addicted to this girl or something because I have never ever actually brought up the idea of dating a chick. Usually, it’s them who brings it up. Or they just assume we’re dating after one hookup. I haven’t even slept with this girl, and I’m already falling all over myself to do something I never do.

“And what happens then? We go on one date. We sleep together. And then you’re done dating me?”

“I told you, Pickle. Once is never going to be enough where you’re concerned.”

“Great. So maybe we see each other a handful of times. That might sound appealing to you, but not to me.” She stumbles over the last words, barely gets them out.

“Why do you always insist on lying to me? It is appealing to you. You just don’t want to admit it.” She looks at me like an animal who has been cornered, like she knows she’s caught.

Then a horn sounds behind us. The stoplight is green, and Dylan rushes to push the gas and direct the wheel.

I don’t give her the opportunity to backtrack or change the subject.

“I think I understand you, Dylan. You don’t want a casual relationship with me because you’ve probably been taught all your life that that kind of relationship is wrong. Or you’ve been told it always ends up leaving you heartbroken after you get too invested. And maybe that is who you are. Maybe you’re the kind of girl that can only be in serious relationships. Or maybe that’s just the kind of girl you’ve told yourself you are. I bet you’ve never been in anything but long-term relationships.”

She swallows and tightens her grip on the steering wheel, hiding her face from me as she turns the car onto another street.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Come on. Tell me. How many relationships?”

She clears her throat and then with her chin up answers, “Two.”

“And how long did they last?”

“A year and a half on the first, and . . .” She trails off.

“And?”

“Four years. And some change.”

“Damn. Four years? You just turned twenty-one, and you’re telling me you’ve spent over five years of that in serious relationships? You’ve probably been in a relationship since the moment you were allowed to date.”

She shrugs, and I know I’m right.

“You might think you need to stay away from me because I’m not your usual relationship material, but I think that’s exactly why you need me. You need to just have some fun. Be young for a little while before it’s too late.”

She sighs, flipping on her blinker with a little too much aggression, and turning onto another residential street.

“Okay.”

For a moment I think I’m just hearing what I want to hear.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll stop thinking so much.”

I wait for her to pause at a stop sign, and then I lean over and kiss her. She makes a surprised sound in my mouth, but then she hums when I drag my lips over her once, then again.

Someone honks behind us, but this time they can f**king wait. I throw my middle finger up to the douche behind us and press her back against her seat just long enough to make sure she knows she’s made a good decision.

I hear the car peel out around us, still honking, but I’m not about to let her run on me again.

When she’s making those little breathy noises again, and her hands have left the steering wheel to clutch at my hair, I slowly pull back.