“That’s a nice way to look at it.” I offer him a tight smile and try to get the focus off of me. Because after the loose lips section of drunk Elliot comes overly emotional Elliot and I cannot go down that road tonight. “What were you going to say before your navigation interrupted you?”

“Oh, it was nothing,” he says, but the way his grip tightens around the steering wheel says otherwise.

“Are you sure?” I might be drunk, but that doesn’t quiet the fixer in me. “Because I also don’t care enough about what you will say to remember it tomorrow.”

“Well, when you say it like that,” he says, but the cobwebs of whatever was bothering him are gone and his smile manages to be bright in this dark car.

“Whatever, you know what I meant.” I try to unbuckle the seat belt but I’m so uncoordinated that Quinton has to turn on the overhead lights to help me out. “Seriously, what is wrong with your car? I swear this is jammed.”

This would never happen in a Toyota.

“Here.” He wraps my hand in his and leans over to unbuckle my seat belt with the other.

When he touched me and I felt sparks earlier, I tried to convince myself that it was just the nerves because of the event. But the event is over. And with his face inches away and his hand on mine, I swear, the air thickens and crackles from the charged energy between us. Neither of us says anything, but my breathing deepens and my pulse quickens with every second that ticks by.

Until I can’t take it anymore.

I close the distance between us and touch my lips to his.

And for a split second, he kisses me back.

Until he doesn’t.

He drops my hand and pulls away. “Elliot . . .”

I’ve fallen in public before. I’ve replied all with a very personal email. I’ve embarrassed myself more than the average person. But nothing, NOTHING, compares to the utter mortification of this moment. Fire starts in the pit of my stomach and spreads right to my face. I take in the horrified look on Quinton’s face and remember how he clearly stated, from our first meeting, that he was not interested in me. At all.

“Oh shit.” I grab my purse off the floor of his car, my cheeks ablaze with humiliation. “I’m so, so sorry. I have no idea what came over me.”

“Elliot.” Pity is written all over his stupid, beautiful face. “I—”

“No, no. I get it. I’m sorry. I . . . Bye.” I open the door, climbing out of his car faster than my drunk mind can keep up with, and run.