Page 31 of Meet Cute Reboot

I look around, brush my eyes across the studio’s sad excuse for landscaping, over the half-empty parking lot, before resting them back on Cassie. “What?”

She rolls her eyes. “Go get your sad girlie bike and put it in the back.” She jabs her thumb toward her SUV.

I limp over to the bike with one hand propping my lower back.

“Enough theatrics,” Cassie calls after me.

I spin around. “Too much?”

She nods.

I head to the bike, jogging this time, and roll it over to Cassie’s SUV.

Plan executed.

Chapter 9

Cassie

I can’t believe Luke Curtis is in my car.He’s in. My. Car.After the year I spent getting over him, I never thought I’d be stupid enough to get this close to him again, even though our closeness is just a platonic business thing. That’sallit is. From my side, anyway.

When we turn onto Rutledge, the air currents in the cabin shift and I catch a whiff of something foul. It’s coming from Luke. I don’t feel the need to break this to him lightly.

“You stink.”

Luke looks at me, surprised. “I do?”

“You reek of B.O.”

“I thought my Old Spice was still holding up.”

“It’s not. Don’t get your stink on my upholstery.”

“Hold on. I got this.” Luke starts rummaging in his backpack. He pulls out a white T-shirt and an aerosol can of deodorant. Before I can object, he strips off his shirt.

My heart hops to my throat. Even smelly, he’s a sight to behold with well-defined pecs, a light peppering of chest hair, a fullpack of abs with defined obliques. I’m overtaken by a wave of unexpected longing.

Gross, Cassie. He’s filthy!

“What are you doing?” I double my grip on the steering wheel.

“Changing my shirt.”

“In my car?!”

“I don’t want to get my stink on your upholstery.” He raises an arm and sprays a cloud of deodorant.

The smell pinches the back of my throat. “Okay,” I say between hacks. “I think you got it.”

He lifts his finger, tosses the can to his other hand, depresses the nozzle, filling the cabin with another cloud of musky aerosol.

“That’s enough,” I say. “My windows are going to fog up.”

“But at least I won’t smell.”

I catch another glimpse of Luke’s pecs as they dance up and down with each arm movement. The wave of desire returns like a reflex left over from our past moments of intimacy.

“Forget it. Just. Clothe. Your. Self.” I punctuate each word with a backhanded slap against his bubbly bicep.