Page 26 of That Rush

“Then you’re one book closer.”

Josie nods seriously before setting them down. “I won’t cheat.”

“I never thought you would.”

“She gets that from me,” I say.

Paige glances up. “Does she?”

“You’re committed to thinking the worst of me.”

“I think you’re used to getting your way.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

A father and two children approach the booth, forcing Paige closer as they crowd around the prize display. Her bare arm brushes mine. The brief contact leaves a hot streak across my skin, a reaction that makes no sense.

Paige’s gaze lifts to mine. The teasing in her eyes fades, replaced by the same awareness moving through me before she steps around my shoulder.

“What are you doing Friday?” I ask.

She pauses. “Reading.”

“That’s all?”

“I may also drink wine if I’m feeling reckless.”

“We’re having a cookout at the ranch. You should come.”

Slade cookouts involve too much food, several generations of family, and at least one relative deciding a guest belongs to them before dessert.

Paige studies me as if she’s deciding whether I understand what I just offered.

“Thank you, but I already have plans.”

“You said you’re reading.”

“In my hammock.”

“Where?”

“At my cabin.”

“That’s your entire plan?”

“It’s a very good hammock.”

“Sounds like a flimsy excuse.”

The amusement in her expression settles into something firmer. “It isn’t an excuse.”

“A book and a hammock?”

“Yes.”

“You’d rather do that than come to a cookout?”

“I made plans for my Friday before you asked me to change them.” Her tone stays calm, which makes the correction land harder. “They don’t become worthless because your invitation has potato salad and a famous last name attached to it.”