Overdrive by Dawn Ius Page B

probably to cover up the mash-up of emotions that have been churning my guts since we agreed to take Roger’s deal. Maybe it’s how Nick copes too. Because after playing dress-up in this costume store for more than an hour, all I’ve found is a pair of gloves—and Nick’s surprising sense of humor. Now that we’ve stopped sniping at each other, I’m stunned by how smoothly his laugh slides under my skin.
    Across the store, Chelsea and my sister use their overflowing shopping carts as bumper cars, and last I checked, Mat was in the suit aisle working his Latino charm on a blond salesgirl.
    Being left alone with Nick should put me on edge, but it’s like something has shifted between us. He’s different. Softer. Like he gets we’re all in this together. Or maybe I’m imagining a difference to quell my rising panic. Seven cars. Seven weeks.
    We must be fucking nuts.
    I try on an absurd pair of heels while Nick thumbs through a rack behind me. The aisles at the back of the store are packed tighter together, making me hyper aware of our closeness. We both turn and end up face-to-face.
    Like that’s not awkward.
    Nick waggles his eyebrows and the left side of his mustache breaks loose, snagging on his lip piercing.
    A ridiculous grin splits my face. “Oh my God. I can’t even . . .” I stand on tiptoes to adjust the mustache. My balance shifts and I teeter forward, almost falling into Nick. He grabs my elbows to steady me. We’re close. Too close. The heat from his breath pulses across my neck.
    Suddenly I feel exposed.
    â€œUm . . .”
    We both shift a little to the left, which only wedges us closer. I’ve got nowhere to go but into his chest. His solid. Muscular. Chest. The tips of winged tattoos show through the tight T-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders.
    â€œMustache can’t look that bad.” Startled by his voice, I look up and he winks. “You fell for it—literally.”
    â€œDream on.”
    I try to push away, but my knees buckle a little. His eyes sweep across my neck, my chest, settle on my lips. My pulse goes from zero to sixty. I swallow hard as he closes the gap between us, the scent of his peppermint breath drawing me in.
    â€œJules?”
    His voice is smooth, like a fine-tuned Camaro. I drink it up. “Yes.”
    â€œYes?”
    Jesus, YES! My brain protests with the force of an air raid siren that I should back the hell up. Our lives are too complicated, too unstable. Nick doesn’t even like me. But the glint in his eye tells me something different.
    A strangled groan escapes my lips. I’m an idiot to think I could be immune to this.
    â€œSo, yes to the mustache, then?”
    I blink so hard my eyes hurt. “You were asking for an opinion about the fucking mustache?” I punch him in the shoulder and take a step back.
    His eyes twinkle with mischief. “What did you think I meant?”
    My stomach bottoms out. Fuck. I really am an idiot.
    â€œGuys, is this not the best ha . . . ?” Chelsea’s voice trails off. “Oh crap.”
    I spin around so that Nick won’t see the disappointment and confusion on my face, and work up a smile for Chelsea. A newsboy cap sits askew atop her red curls. She looks freaking amazing.
    â€œNow that’s how you pull off a costume accessory,” I say, directing the comment at Nick without turning around. There’s an edge to my voice that borders on pissed and I know I’m mad at myself for letting my guard down, even a little.
    Chelsea offers a lopsided grin. “Found one for you too.”
    â€œPlease, no.”
    She reaches for my hand. “Come on .”
    I let her lead me away, grateful for the out. We find Emma at the front of the store, twirling in front of a mirror with both hands pressed against a hat far too big for her head.
    Chelsea leans in. “Sorry if I interrupted something