“That’s ridiculous,” Sam snapped. “We’re going to the same place for the same reason. We only need one vehicle.”

“This is my gig,” Layla said. “I’m driving my car. If you can’t get over your traditional sexist patriarchal controlling self, then I’ll meet you there.”

* * *

• • •

“THE speed limit is thirty-five miles per hour.” Sam pointed to the sign when Layla stepped on the accelerator to pass a car in their lane.

“Thank you. I’m well aware of residential speed limits in this part of the city.” Layla watched the speedometer climb. It was childish but his supercilious attitude made her want to do the opposite of what he told her to do. A ticket would be well worth the satisfaction of watching the worst backseat driver in the history of the universe sweat.

“There’s a stop sign up ahead,” he barked. “Start slowing down.”

Layla’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Be quiet, or I swear I’ll stop this car and make you walk.”

His hand clenched around the door handle, knuckles turning white. “You drive at excessive speed. You weave in and out of traffic. You tailgate people who are driving below the speed limit. And you stop only at the last second. What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to be impressed by the fact that I drive a Jeep and have a clean record, that you’re in a car with a woman that likes to drive fast and can do so safely, and tell me why you almost kissed me the other night.”

Silence.

She didn’t know where that question about the kiss had come from, and it had clearly made him uncomfortable. But at least he wasn’t backseat driving anymore.

Sam cleared his throat. “It was a mistake.”

“I’m glad you agree.” She didn’t really agree. Something had changed between them. She’d felt some kind of spark that had nothing to do with friendship and everything to do with Sam being smart, funny, protective, and exceedingly kind in a way she had never thought he could be. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t looking for another short-term hookup, and she’d wasted enough time thinking about what might have happened if Karen hadn’t interrupted them. With a sigh, she took a mental machete to her fantasies of speeding through the city to Sam’s apartment, tearing off each other’s clothes in the elevator, and barely making it through his door before they were overcome with helpless desire.

“Also, I want you to cancel your shopping trip with Nisha,” he said. “It was kind of you to invite her, but you don’t have to pretend to be her friend because she uses a wheelchair. She’s been hurt enough.”

“Wow.”

“Wow?”

Layla shot him a sideways glance. “You are way overprotective. I genuinely like your sister. She’s sweet and funny and I enjoyed her company. It doesn’t matter to me that she uses a wheelchair. I grew up with a huge family and my grandmother wasn’t the only person who used a mobility device. Patels don’t treat people differently when they have special needs. We just try harder to let them know they’re loved.”

Sam went rigid, his eyes fixed on the road, corded throat tightening when he swallowed.

“Are you okay? Did I hit a pedestrian or something?” She slowed to a stop at a traffic light.

He pulled out his phone. “I need to check my messages.”

“It helps if you turn it on,” she said gently when she noticed him staring blankly at the screen.

The light turned green and she stepped on the accelerator a little too hard, sending the car shooting forward and Sam’s head snapping back.

He shook himself and cleared his throat. “Do you want children in your arranged marriage?”

Layla frowned, trying to wrap her head around the sudden change of conversation. “That’s a very personal question. But, yes. I want to have kids. At least three, so if the first one is a boy and the second is a girl, she won’t feel like she’s in a competition she can never win because she doesn’t have a penis.”

Sam lowered his window and drew in a breath of air.

“Shocked you, didn’t I? Was it the word penis or the revelation that I would want children with a man I don’t love?”

“I’m beginning to realize there is no end to your ability to surprise me.”

Layla tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Why did you ask me about kids? Are you worried I might be pregnant after our almost-kiss? Like some kind of immaculate conception?”

A laugh escaped him, a short chuckle that disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. “Harman is a professional bodybuilder. That means steroids. Prolonged use of anabolic steroids can have significant effects including reduced sperm count, infertility, genital atrophy, erectile dysfunction, and shrunken testicles.”

“So you saw my penis and raised me a pair of shrunken testicles? I fold. You win. I dub thee Master of the Game.” She tapped his arm with two fingers, trying not to imagine how it would feel to have that strength wrapped around her.

His face smoothed to an expressionless mask. “It’s not funny.”

“Definitely not if he isn’t fully functional. But it doesn’t make him a bad person, and your job is to weed out the disreputable characters, not the impotent ones.”

Layla pulled into the parking lot of the sports center, and they made their way into the warehouse-style training facility. Upbeat rock music pounded through the speakers, almost drowning out the buzz of grunts, groans, and clanking weights. Bodybuilders and powerlifters cranked it out in every corner. The air was thick with testosterone and the scents of sweat and disinfectant.

“Sam, my man.” A god walked toward them, wearing a teeny-tiny pair of red gym shorts and nothing else. Six feet tall, lean and ripped, with short, thick, dark hair, a shredded six-pack, perfect teeth, and a killer smile, he was a study in the perfection of the masculine form. “Old-school chaperone. I like it.”

Sam and Harman did a manly fist bump slash handshake followed by mutual shoulder pats like they’d known each other all their lives.

“This is Layla Patel.” Sam pushed her forward.

Layla opened her mouth but no words came out. Close up, Harman was even more breathtaking than his picture. She could see every muscle ripple as he moved, pecs so hard and smooth she could have bounced a penny off his bronze skin. “Give it here, babe.” Harman held up a hand.

“Stop drooling,” Sam whispered in her ear. “You look ridiculous.” He lifted her hand and smacked it against Harman’s palm in a humiliating high five she should have been able to manage herself if she hadn’t been drunk on Harman’s beauty.