Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(83)

Matthew’s grip around me loosens. “Is that yours?”

I think I nod.

He springs into action, reaching my car in just a few long strides and throwing it into park in the nick of time.

It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Sorry!” He waves apologetically to the line of cars my Jetta almost took out.

I keep my eyes glued to the ground as I make my way over to him. “I swear that hasn’t happened before.”

I can tell he’s doing his best to suppress a grin. “Want me to drive?” he offers.

I’m still a little shaky from the adrenaline, and the honking of another horn makes me jump.

“Maybe.”

He slips into the driver’s seat without another word, throwing his bag into the back and adjusting the seat to accommodate his long legs.

“I’m usually a really good driver,” I tell him as we pull out of the airport, loading up the directions on my phone to our official first-date spot. “I got too excited.”

“I’m sure I would have done the same thing,” he assures me.

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

“Probably not,” he agrees, finally letting himself smile at me. I would be embarrassed if it were anyone else.

“Well?” He gives me an expectant look out of the corner of his eye while I watch him intently. Everything about him driving my car turns me on. The way he grips the steering wheel with one hand, the way his arms flex slightly whenever he makes a turn, the way he merges from lane to lane effortlessly. I close my legs together tightly, worried that he’ll somehow be able to sense what he’s doing to me.

“Well what?” I ask, forcing myself to ignore the ache between my thighs.

“Your interview!” he exclaims excitedly. “How was it?”

“Oh!” Between the excitement of dropping Nora off and picking Matthew up, I had completely forgotten about my interview with Dan earlier today. Matthew had been helping me prep for it all week over FaceTime.

“It was good! I got offered the job.”

“Phoebe!” He reaches over the center console and wraps his hand around the nape of my neck. I suck in a sharp breath. “That’s incredible,” he says. “You’re incredible.”

I close my eyes and brace myself for his disappointment. “I didn’t take it.”

He runs his thumb along my neck and I open my eyes to find him biting his lip, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“You’re mad.”

“Of course not.” He shakes his head. “I feel guilty.”

“What? Why would you feel guilty?”

He removes his hand from my neck to scratch his own. I want to reach out and snatch it back. “I’m a bad person.”

“You’re the best person.”

“I could tell that you didn’t want that job. I think I just encouraged you to take the interview so that maybe you’d keep coming to me for advice. Advice that I’m not at all qualified to be giving, by the way.”

I give in to my impulses and grab his hand, holding it tightly on my lap. “Do you think I’m innocent? Why do you think I was going to you for advice?”

He laughs, and I watch the muscles in his jaw twitch as they loosen with relief. I want to lean over and lick his jawline.

What is happening to me?

I spend the rest of the drive facing forward with my legs crossed, trying my best not to look directly at him.



* * *



—

I’ve made Matthew try every food stand the Santa Monica Pier has to offer. So far we’ve split a bucket of popcorn, sour apple cotton candy, a fried Oreo milkshake, and a jalape?o corn dog. Everything was extremely gross and perfect at the same time.

“Are you sure this is a good idea after everything we ate?” he asks. We’re standing in line for the pier’s only roller coaster, if you can even call it that.

“I’m positive,” I tell him. “It’s for kids. Look.” I point to the sign hanging from the fence alongside the ride. “You only have to be thirty-six inches to ride. That’s, like, very tiny. And it’s about thirty seconds from start to finish.”

“I’m not asking for me.” He takes a bite of our corn dog before offering it to me. “You’re the one with the weak stomach,” he says with a smirk.

I feign offense. “Wow, I never expected you to use that against me.” I start walking away from him. “Let’s go. I’m taking you back to the airport.”

“No!” He pulls me back by my arm, spinning me into his chest. “I’ll be good.” I feel his chest rise and fall as he looks down at me through his eyelashes and my heart begins to race.

He blinks.

I blink.

He licks his bottom lip.

I bite mine.

He lifts his hand to my cheek and—

“Teacher Phoebe?” I turn sharply toward the voice at my left, jumping back from Matthew on instinct.

Danny and his mom are walking toward us, his mom with an apologetic gleam in her eye.

“Hi, Danny!” I crouch down and give him a hug. “What a fun surprise!”

I have never been less excited to see one of my students before.

He squints as he looks back and forth between me and Matthew. “Where’s Teacher Finn?” he asks.