The skirt will probably wrinkle again in the car anyway. Larry will bitch about it, but then he’ll be too busy to care five minutes into the job.

Not that I’m upset about the encounter I had at the gas station. I’m not someone who flirts that often, but the minute Harbor walked in, I thought about it. I’m weak to a cute smile, and he had a great body.

It might be unfair to lump him in with the guys I’ve met before, but they taught me someone that attractive loses interest easily. Giving him a hard time was a good test that he passed. Bonus: I got to enjoy his attention while I had it.

I laugh, remembering the meet cute conversation. It’s ridiculous to think I’m going to meet my soul mate at a gas station. Something like that could happen in the movies that I love to watch or in the books I read, but not in real life.

Though I can admit, he got to me. The way he looked at me, his gaze penetrating me like he saw something more than what’s on the outside. I smile, touching my lips as if his words were whispered against them. It wasn’t the words exchanged that had me hanging onto each one of them. It was the way his eyes would settle on my mouth, the lick of his own lips, and then his tone wrapping around me like a warm blanket that had me eager for more.

Feelings that out of control, zipping through me like a live wire would have had me acting carelessly. I don’t have the same luxury like they do in Hollywood.

I swipe on lipstick. Neutral, like my outfit. We’re never supposed to stand out but instead to blend into the surroundings when working. I roll my eyes. Heaven forbid someone catches us doing our job.

Grabbing my keys, I yank open the door in a rush to be outside when Dane arrives. “See you later, Amanda.” My roommate was in the shower moments ago, so I’m not sure if she hears me.

“Bye, Lark,” echoes from the bathroom.

I grin and start to close the door, but it’s pulled open. Wrapped in a towel, she peeks around with wet hair stuck to her shoulders, and asks, “Are you going out later?”

“Doubt it. I won’t get home until midnight.”

Her shoulders drop. “I was hoping you’d make it. Gavin’s playing tonight with the new band. I hear some of the band is single.”

“Yeah,” I reply, debating if I should go after work. “I’ll see how I feel, but don’t wait on me. Okay?”

“Text me if you decide to come, and I’ll send you the address.”

Amanda’s been my best friend since elementary school. She was a transfer student. I was . . . broken. Somehow, this girl who should have had it all if looks were currency—hazel eyes and hair the color of warm sunshine—was put into my path when I needed a friend the most. We may be opposites, but our friendship stuck. We rarely fight, though we act like sisters. I have her back, and she’s got mine.