Oliver smiled obliviously. “Oh, right. You’re both from Beacon! Well, cool, then.”
There was no malice in his eyes. No sense that he was two-timing them. But still, Mac didn’t want Claire sitting here and ruining her sweet little down-on-the-farm moment with Oliver. Then, suddenly, she realized how she could make Claire leave for good.
Without thinking too hard about it—otherwise she’d totally lose her nerve—Mac reached up, put her hands on Oliver’s face, and pulled him down toward her. She kissed him, lightly at first, then with intensity. He seemed surprised, but quickly responded by tangling one hand in her hair and pulling her closer. “Whoa,” she heard him murmur.
They kissed for a few moments. Mac could feel everyone else at the table watching them, then heard some whispers. She’s drunk, someone said. That’s hot, someone else mumbled. But Mac didn’t care. When she opened her eyes, Claire was halfway across the restaurant. She barreled through the front door and was soon on the pavement.
Poor baby, Mac thought with satisfaction. Couldn’t stand the heat, so you got out of the kitchen.
And then, right on the heels of that, she felt the tiniest pang. She was acting crazy. She didn’t kiss boys in public. She didn’t act rudely to people—even if they were ex-friends. Who was she turning into?
Oliver pulled back and looked at Mac meaningfully. “I had no idea talking about llamas got you so hot.”
Mac blushed, trying her hardest to snap back to the present. “What can I say? Llamas are sexy.”
“Do you want to get out of here?”
His question startled Mac, and she instantly realized what an idiot she was. Of course he wanted to get out of here—she’d just kissed him passionately in the middle of a restaurant. She cleared her throat. “Um, okay.” The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was a prude. “Let’s go.”
Oliver grabbed Mac by the hand, tossed some cash onto the table, and waved good-bye. Mac heard more whispers, and Lucien yelled out a whoo! but she didn’t turn.
He led her toward a dark blue Prius on the far edge of the parking lot, then opened the door and held her hand while she climbed inside. The car smelled like Winterfresh gum, and there were a bunch of Rachmaninoff CDs littered on the floor. Mac stared blankly at the little disco ball hanging from the rearview mirror, its tiny mirrored panes sparkling in the overhead streetlight.
Oliver walked around to the driver’s side and slid into his seat. “Where to?” Mac asked once he closed the door. But just as the words escaped her mouth, Oliver leaned across the seats and pulled her close again, kissing her deeply. He was an excellent kisser, brushing her lips with his and holding her face in both hands.
“How about right here?” he breathed into her ear.
Mac tried to shift her body so the curve of the seat wasn’t digging into her thigh, but she only ended up banging her knee on the gear shift. Struggling to maneuver himself in the tight space, Oliver leaned sideways and landed on the car horn, which blasted across the quiet parking lot. They giggled and fell back in their respective seats until they caught their breath.
Oliver pressed a lever and scooted his seat as far back as it would go, then reclined the backrest until it was touching the rear seat. With a chuckle, he grabbed Mac’s wrist and pulled her over onto his lap, facing him. “Better?” He kissed her neck.
“Um, okay,” Mac murmured, taking off her glasses and placing them on the dashboard. She let him leave a trail of soft caresses on her neck, up her jawline, across her cheek. It felt good, there was no denying it. But suddenly, Mac felt sort of . . . separate. She didn’t feel the kind of emotion she was expecting. In fact, she kind of felt nothing.
Only, why? What was wrong with her? Maybe she was just a freak.
She tried to kiss him some more, but the more their lips met, the antsier she became. Finally, Mac pulled back and laid her hands in her lap. “Oliver, I’m sorry, but . . .” She trailed off, grabbing for her glasses again.
“Oh.” Oliver shifted backward. “Hey. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
She pretended to rub her glasses clean. “Uh, yeah. I just should probably get going.”
Oliver stared at her for a beat. He didn’t seem angry exactly, just confused. “Did I read this wrong?”
“No!” She shook her head. “You are amazing. It’s just that I . . .” She what? She didn’t even know. “I have to go.” She straightened the straps of her bra and grabbed her purse, which had fallen onto the floor. “I’ll call you, okay?”