Page 39 of Changing Lanes

Like.

That.

The plan to field her off snaps as quickly as it formed, like a poorly constructed tightwire over a waterfall of madness. I’m up to my neck now, about to go over completely.

“You owe me,” she chokes out and I’m already nodding. Whatever she thinks I owe, I’m ready to settle up. Now. With any luck, my debt will run deep. “For scaring off tonight’s distraction.”

Is she talking about that guy Evan or whatever his name was? I’ve eaten sandwiches meatier than him. What the hell kind of distraction could he provide?

“Distraction, huh?”

I knew she was hiding something. I just need to figure out what.

“And since you’re supposed to be the life of the party or something like that…”

Something like that? Please.

“Girl, I put the fun in dysfunction.”

Her white teeth flash in the shitty lamplight above our heads swarmed by moths repeatedly throwing themselves against the opaque barrier keeping them from what they want, despite the high cost.

“Perfect. I put the ass in disaster.”

I bark out a thick laugh, growing even harder when I grip the ass in question, rubbing my erection against Paige’s center and watching that cliff of insanity creep up with increasing speed as her nails dig into my shoulders with the same urgency vibrating through my entire body.

She’s quicker than I gave her credit for.

“What do you need to be distracted from?”

On a sigh, the word “everything” leaves her mouth the way one might pray for rain in a serious drought.

I try to catch her eye but she blinks long and hard, hiding those emerald-colored eyes from me.

“Just…make it all disappear.”

That I get. That I can do—incredibly fucking well.

Under her open jacket, her nipples strain through her black lacy top and my mouth goes dry at the sight, making me realize that I’m the one stuck in a drought. A seriously fucked drought with skylines full of the same mirage-like wavy lines everywhere.

But then, why does it feel like I was just handed keys to a kingdom I know I don’t deserve? It feels like a set-up. A set-up to fail.

Fail who though? Her or me?

Her eyes pop open, staring me down with more clarity than she’s shown all night, then she says, “I won’t ask again.”

I’d smirk if I had any feeling left in my face but I don’t, not with all the blood in my body rushing south for, you know, warmth—hers, hopefully.

What can I say to that? No? I don’t think so. I’m a people pleaser, it’s what I do, and if my Tahoe wasn’t across the fucking lot, she’d already be laid out across the hood like an all you can eat buffet.

Working with what I got, I press her into the outside wall, wondering if I can really pull this off. Hell, I’d dry hump the shit out of her if I thought I could last.

“Fuck, Paige. What are we doing?” I ground out, against the soft part of her neck. Her sweet peach smell luring me in like a helpless sap.

“What do you want to do?”

Are we talking specifics here? Because I’ve got a lot of ideas.

I rear back to see her face again. Her usual spark is alive and well with a raised eyebrow egging me on. But there’s something else, too. Something I can’t put my finger on.