“Yeah, I’m supposed to be there in twenty minutes. So, about that rain check—”

“I’ll go with you.”

My mouth hangs open for a second, and then I shut it fast when I realize how stupid I must look. “Go with me?”

“Yeah. If you want some company?”

She stares up at me with those fucking adorable brown eyes, and all I can think about is being alone with her for an extended period of time. But a dialysis treatment isn’t like grabbing a cup of coffee.

“You know it takes three hours, right? Just sitting there.”

Her smile heats my chest—and maybe some other places.

“I know. Marcus was always bored out of his mind, so I went with him a lot. Just so he’d have someone to talk to or play a card game with or something. Do you get bored?”

Hell yeah, I do. Sometimes, I want to peel my skin off; I’m going so crazy from sitting in that chair with the needles in my arm.

“Yeah. I usually just watch TV or try to study. But, if you want to entertain me, then be my guest.”

That earns me another grin. I’m about to keep a tally of all the times I’ve made her smile because each one makes me feel like a badass standing on the gold medalist podium after an Olympic game.

I indicate the direction of my car, and we start walking.

Three hours with Holly Foster. My day just got interesting.

HOLLY

When we reach Ben’s SUV, he tries to act like a gentleman and open the passenger door for me. Instead, while he’s distracted, I climb into the driver’s seat. He leans down to peer at me through the car with a baffled look. That expression, paired with the sight of his glasses sliding down his nose, is so endearing; I can’t help my grin.

“Sorry, Ben. I never ride in a car I’m not driving. But look at it this way; now, you have a chauffeur!”

I pat the passenger’s seat in an enticing manner. Hopefully, he’s not the type to make a stink over this. It might seem like a joke, but I am completely serious.

Ben slides in and hands over the keys. “You’d better have a stellar driving record.”

“The only tickets I’ve gotten are parking. But that’s Philly. I’m pretty sure they change the rules overnight without telling anyone.”

This city is hell for people who own cars. I’m all about public transportation.

“Fine. But I get to DJ.”

He reaches for the preprogrammed buttons, and I wonder what’s going to come out of the speakers. Is he a hard rock, screamo kind of guy? Or maybe he’s got a bit of country in him. He could be top forty or gospel. Punk? Jazz? R & B?

Turns out, I’m wrong on all counts. The station number 93.3 flashes on the screen, and multiple voices fill the car.