I can tell he wants to talk to me, no doubt about what happened last night, but I’d rather jump out of this godforsaken truck at seventy miles an hour on the interstate than have that conversation. Last night does not need to be discussed. Ever. I got carried away and I made a damn fool of myself. That’s it. Nothing more. I’ve accepted the fact that Nash is marrying Anna, and he’s happy. Now I just need to accept the fact that guys like Harley Shaw will never go for girls like me and, when we kiss them, they will run a mile and never look back.

Am I little offended that he wouldn’t even kiss me when he bangs almost anything with a vagina that walks into his bar? Yes. What woman wouldn’t be? But I’m sure what happened last night is for the best. If he would’ve entertained my pass, taken me upstairs and given me the Shaw Special all the girls in senior year used to giggle about, no doubt things would be even more awkward than they already are right now. I mean, he did me a favor. End of story. Right? It has to be. End of.

I stiffen immediately when I see Harley walking back toward the truck, and I go straight back to my book, pretending once again to be so caught up in it I don’t even notice his return.

“I got you a coffee.” He places a to-go cup in the center holder before taking a sip of his own and humming in appreciation, causing me to inwardly cringe, because it only sparks memories from the night before, memories I’m trying so hard to forget.

“Thanks,” I mumble, refusing to look up from my book. I don’t want to accept his coffee, but after thirty solid minutes of listening to his terrible choice in music, I really could use a caffeine hit, and the smell of freshly roasted beans does cause me to salivate. But I hold out until we’re back on the interstate before I reluctantly reach out for the cup. Taking a sheepish sip, I catch the smug smirk curling Harley’s lips from the corner of my eye, and I turn away to focus on the fast-passing fields out the window to avoid him altogether.

“So,” Harley begins, clearing his throat. “Are you ready to talk about what happened last night?”

I cower a little in my seat, gripping my coffee cup tight, my jaw clenching. He turns down the music playing through the cab until it’s nothing but the hint of a tune, and it’s just the two of us once again. I close my eyes behind my sunglasses, trying so hard to mentally prepare myself. With a big sigh, I squirm a little in my seat, forcing myself to look at him to see his gaze set intently on the road ahead, his face impassive. Yes, I could tell him the truth. But I don’t even know what that truth is right now. So, of course, I do what any woman would do in this situation. I lie through my teeth.