The Play Mate (Roommates, #2)

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Who would ever compare?

That’s what I found myself thinking as I sneaked a peek at Smith out of the corner of my eye. He was focused on the road, his profile superhero clean, his strong, capable hands on the wheel, a small smile playing about his firm mouth.

If it was just his looks, maybe I could have dealt. Looks weren’t everything, after all. But it wasn’t just that. The past weeks had been magical. He made me laugh, he made me come, he made me feel important and grown-up, and best of all? He made me feel heard. When I spoke, he didn’t sit there texting on his phone like a lot of the guys my age did. He looked at me and he really listened, his phone nowhere in sight.

I shifted in the passenger’s seat and held back a sigh. This was exactly why I’d made the whole casual edict so adamantly in the first place. Not for Smith. Smith was all about casual. In fact, I was pretty sure he’d never done anything but casual aside from one long-term girlfriend, and even after they’d broken up, he certainly hadn’t shed any tears.

No, the casual label was for me. I’d hoped that the more I said it, the more I could remind myself that this was all temporary.

Every last bit of it.

The sweet dates, and even sweeter kisses. Having Smith’s undivided attention. Feeling his hands . . . and mouth on me. And when it was over, things were going to have to go back to the way they were.

I was a smart cookie. Surely, just like memorizing state capitals, if I repeated it often enough, it would stick.

But apparently, the line between my brain and my heart was out of order, because while my rational mind accepted the inevitable outcome, my heart was on a whole other level. Filled with hope and anticipation and excitement. It was making plans and promises, and daydreaming about babies.

Stupid fucking heart.

My throat ached and my eyes burned with pre-emptive grief. Funny, I’d always been the careful one, and the one time I took a risk . . .

There was no question about it. This one was going to leave a mark. A long-lasting, indelible scar on my heart.

Exactly, dummy. And there’s no changing it now. What’s done is done, so you might as well enjoy it while you’ve got it.

Resolved to do exactly that, I shoved aside my melancholy and glanced out the window, watching trees flash by.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked, straightening in my seat and shooting Smith a questioning glance.

Our past dates, I’d typically met him somewhere away from our usual hangouts so we wouldn’t get spotted together, but tonight, Smith had insisted on picking me up. Now, though, I realized we were headed north toward somewhere outside the city. There was nothing this way but houses and churches.

“We’ll be there in about sixty seconds, and then you’ll see,” he said, his half smile ramping up to full power.

That smile was like being kissed by the sun, warming me through to my core, and I realized I didn’t give a crap where our date was, as long as I was with Smith.

He pulled down a cul-de-sac and into the driveway of a modest but cozy-looking house I’d never seen before.

“I probably should’ve warned you to wear an old shirt, but I’ll buy you a new one if this turns out the way I think it will.”

It was only then that I realized that he was dressed super casual himself. A hoodie and a pair of worn jeans as opposed to my new sweater and high-heeled boots combo. Now my curiosity amped up to code red, and I gaped at him.

“What the heck is going on, Smith? Are we meeting some friends of yours for a double date or something?” And if so, wouldn’t that news get back to my brother?

But I kept that last part to myself because I realized with a start that I wanted to meet Smith’s friends. I wanted to know everything about him. Become part of his life story for real instead of just a note in the margins. The melancholy threatened to return like a gray cloud, but I pushed it away again.

Whatever tomorrow brought, tonight I was with a guy I wanted, I liked, and I trusted. So tonight? I was going to take happiness by the balls and squeeze out every last drop.

“I don’t think I’d call it a double date, exactly, but . . .”