Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

Why was he so freaking wonderful too?

To cover my rush of inappropriate feelings, I teased, “Even if it means being cockblocked?”

Michael chuckled. “I think you might have saved me. When I told her a friend needed me, she went off like a fuckin’ shrew.” He winced at the memory. “Not sexy.”

“Well then, I’m glad to have helped.”

Michael shot me that boyish, crooked smile of his and I couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s better,” he said quietly.

I bit my lip at the awareness that sprung between us and turned to look out my window. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can talk.”

We were quiet a moment as he drove out of Everett.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For what?”

“For dropping everything to come get me. I don’t … I’m not usually such a drama queen.”

“Dahlia, no one would ever accuse you of being a drama queen.”

“It’s just you seem older than the

rest of us. I don’t want to seem immature in comparison.”

“Does older mean boring?” he asked.

Surprised by the slight insecurity I detected in his voice, I reassured him. “Absolutely not.” It was sexy. So, so sexy.

I definitely should not have called him.

A few minutes later Michael pulled into a parking lot in South Wellington at the Mystic River Reservation. The lot was empty. “We’re not supposed to park here after dark.”

He shrugged. “We’ll take off if we see a patrol car.”

I gave a huff of laughter. “Michael, you’re a rookie. I don’t think you should take this chance.”

“I’ll say you got sick and I had to pull over somewhere.”

I studied him a second as he parked the car. “You would absolutely get away with that.”

“I have a sincere face.”

“You do.” I laughed. “You so do. I bet you got out of a lot of trouble growing up because of that face.”

He took off his belt and turned a little in his seat to face me. “Gary would have gotten into some serious shit if it weren’t for this face.”

“I believe that too.” My eyes roamed over his features, and I tried to avoid his lips. His eyes always ensnared me, and it was hard to avoid them, but I had to avoid his lips. They were so beautifully formed. Almost a little pouty for a guy. The hard angles of the rest of his face stopped those lips from making him a pretty boy. However, it did not stop me thinking about his mouth more than I should. When I drew Michael’s face, I took extra time on his lips, trying to get the curvature perfect.

Oh damn, I was staring.

I cleared my throat and looked out across the lot at the dark park beyond.

“So …,” Michael prompted, “you going to tell me what happened with your mom?”

“Ah, Sorcha McGuire.” I tried for breezy and snarky. “I’m pretty sure she gives more than ten percent in her tithe in the hopes that Jesus will set me on the right path.”