Chapter Thirteen
Clara
Sam rolled the car to a stop at the service station, unbuckled his seatbelt, and leaned over to grab his wallet from the centre console.
Clara’s eyes drifted to his forearms. They’d caught her attention before, but now they were really holding it – the corded muscle, the flex of sinew beneath skin.
He was a unit, as the students would say.
Unexpectedly so. She bit her lip as he hopped out to fuel up.
Stop it, she muttered, loosening the neckline of her top.
Stop sexualising your friend. Especially now that she’d agreed to be his fake date.
The idea made her chuckle, though she knew it wouldn’t be as exciting in real life as it was in films. She understood the assignment fully.
Stop his rakish friend from ribbing him about being single.
It was a nominal role more than anything else, and she was happy to do it for him.
But when she glanced out the window and saw him lifting the petrol pump, that resolve melted.
It was impossible not to notice him – not when he moved like that, sleeves rolled and sunlight sliding over his arms. Lissa’s words floated through her head, the teasing tone still vivid.
Smoke-show, she’d called him. Clara had laughed then, but she wasn’t laughing now.
Maybe this was just what happened when you’d been single too long – the brain started throwing sparks at anything remotely appealing. Still, there was a difference between noticing and wanting. And did she actually want that with Sam?
If she did, it would only be for the benefits – a mutual favour between friends, a bit of uncomplicated fun. Except would it be uncomplicated? Did any amount of physical starvation justify risking a friendship that felt this good? Was that something they could add to the arrangement?
Now, I’m being ridiculous. She shook the thoughts from her head.
No doubt one day he’d meet someone and make a brilliant partner – the kind who remembered anniversaries and offered to cook dinner even after a long day.
Clara watched him disappear inside to pay, a soft twist tugging at her chest. Cheesy as it sounded, whoever ended up with him would be lucky. He’d make someone very happy one day.
Her frown came almost on cue. He really shouldn’t be paying for everything. This wasn’t an old-fashioned setup; she could contribute. Unclipping her seat belt, she pushed the door open and stepped out; the petrol fumes hit her nose immediately.
Automatic doors whooshed wide as she reached the shop, and she slipped past a couple of people queuing for coffee.
Sam was almost at the counter, wallet in hand.
Clara watched the easy curve of his smile before reminding herself why she’d come in.
She wasn’t mooning over him – she was paying her share. That was all.
She tapped his shoulder, and he turned, giving her a curious look. ‘Hey. You ok?’
‘Yeah, fine. I just feel like I should contribute something to the trip.’ She sidled closer to him as someone needed past her to get into another aisle. ‘You’re paying for all this, and I feel like I’m just hijacking your holiday. Let me pay for this.’
Sam shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. I was coming anyway. You’re helping me, you shouldn’t have to pay for the privilege.’
‘I really don’t mind. Otherwise, I feel like a hanger-on.’
‘You’re definitely not that. You’re my fake date.
’ He nudged her lightly with his elbow, and they both laughed.
He tapped his card on the machine, then popped it back in his wallet.
‘You know, I think I’m always going to picture you now as a squashed plastic version of a date,’ he said as they reached the doors, and waited as a large family came in.
‘Not exactly a flattering image for someone who’s… well, as pretty as you.’
A rush of warmth burst onto Clara’s cheeks. She gave him a little grin. ‘Thank you, Sam.’
‘For what? Comparing you to a squashed fruit?’
‘You know what I mean, and I really appreciate your kind words.’
He gave her a smile then glanced at his feet, the skin next to his beard line looking slightly pink. She rubbed his arm. He really was the loveliest guy.
When they got back to the car, Sam went to the passenger door. ‘Your turn to drive. If you still want to.’
‘Yeah, I do. I enjoy driving and just look at this beauty.’ She ran her hand over the bonnet. ‘Sexy stuff.’
Sam shook his head, barely holding back a laugh. ‘Sexy? Right. I thought it was more practical, but ok, I’ll take it.’
‘Practical?’ She got into the driver’s seat and adjusted the seat and mirrors. ‘Sure, it’s that, but in a sophisticated, powerful way. Miaow.’ She made cat claws, then grasped the wheel.
‘Oh-kay…’ He gave her an amused look. ‘Is this a good idea putting you behind the wheel? We seem to have unleashed some kind of wild animal.’
She grinned, nudged the gear stick into drive, and eased the car out of the service station. ‘I think I’ll test it around the car park for a bit before we hit the motorway.’ She indicated and turned into the main car park, trying out the controls. ‘Oh, it’s so smooth. I’m stealing this car.’
Sam shook his head, a grin twitching at his lips. ‘If you say so.’
When they hit the motorway, she settled in, relaxing into the seat. ‘I haven’t done a long drive like this in ages. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Me too.’ He moved the seat back, stretching his legs out and reclining a bit. ‘It’s nice to have a break. Normally, I’m the one glued to the driver’s seat for hours, so this feels like an actual holiday.’
They laughed, slipping into easy conversation as the motorway stretched on ahead.
Time passed peacefully, the scenery shifting with the miles as they headed south, swapping stories and jokes.
The chance just to spend time chatting was so nice.
When they were at school, they were confined to a few minutes at break and lunch, but now they had hours to talk about everything and anything.
By the time they got there, they would have put the whole world to rights.
They didn’t stop again until almost one-thirty. Clara was a little peckish and needed to wee. She wasn’t entirely sure where they were, but Sam said they were close to Manchester, and the road had got steadily busier.
She pulled into the next service station, easing the car into a narrow space. The air outside hit her like a wall – a mix of fumes and frying oil – as she stretched her arms over her head, vertebrae clicking in protest after hours in the car.
Inside, she made a beeline for the bathroom, splashing cool water on her face before rejoining Sam in the food hall.
‘Shall we be boring and get something from Costa?’ she asked, spotting the familiar red sign.
He followed her gaze and gave a half-smile. ‘Well, unless you fancy a Big Mac, I think boring’s our best bet.’
‘Not really.’ She grimaced. ‘The smell of McDonald’s fries makes me feel like I’m fifteen again.’
They joined the queue, each clutching a toastie in its crinkly wrapper. The place was packed – kids whining for chocolate, a man in a suit juggling three coffees, a steady hum of conversation under the hiss of the espresso machine.
‘This is a very badly laid out shop,’ Clara muttered as someone elbowed past to grab a bottle of water. She stepped back, straight into Sam’s chest. ‘Sorry!’
‘Not your fault.’ His hand landed lightly on her shoulder. ‘People have no patience.’
He glared at the woman retreating with her prize, then his fingers shifted slightly, brushing the top of Clara's arm – not lingering, but not pulling away either.
Heat bloomed beneath her skin, slow and deep.
Sam wasn’t usually as tactile as her – if anything, he avoided unnecessary contact – but right now, he stayed close, his presence solid in the crowd.
Maybe he was just being protective, making sure she didn’t get trampled.
Fine. She could live with that. In fact, she liked it.
For a few heartbeats, the noise around them dulled to a soft blur. She let her shoulders relax against the hum of his nearness, eyes fluttering shut for a second. The world felt quieter here, safer.
By the time they reached the counter, he was still touching her. Then he stepped forward, hand leaving her shoulder as he reached for his wallet. The absence hit harder than she expected – a sharp little pocket of cold where his warmth had been.
‘Here. I’m buying this,’ she said, but too late – his card had already tapped the machine with a soft beep.
‘You are very naughty.’ She narrowed her eyes at him, fighting a smile. ‘But also, super sweet.’
‘Occupational hazard of a fake date,’ he said, collecting the receipt, and she giggled.
They lingered at the end of the counter, the air thick with the scent of coffee and toasted cheese.
When their drinks and toasties were finally ready, they carried the tray to a small table by the window.
Rain had started to mist against the glass, turning the car park beyond into a blur of grey and silver.
‘Better than nothing,’ Sam said, taking a bite of his toastie. ‘And the coffee’s usually decent.’
‘Definitely.’ Clara took a sip from her cup, the warmth curling through her fingers.
Across from her, Sam leaned back in his chair, all calm and unhurried confidence.
He really was… something. Not conventionally handsome, maybe, but magnetic in a quiet way.
It wasn’t just how he looked – it was more.
She’d known him for months now, but lately something in her brain kept glitching around him, sending her thoughts to places she didn’t want them to go.
She stirred her coffee to cover the thought. Ordinary guy, extraordinary effect. Utterly confusing.
Was this just her brain on the rebound?
When they’d finished eating, she excused herself to the loo again – just in case – then rejoined him at the car. Sam was already in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on his thigh.
Clara climbed in beside him, tucking her feet up under her knees. ‘Back on the road, then.’
He smiled, and a ridiculous flutter erupted in her chest. She turned to the window quickly, pretending to study the drizzle streaking the glass.
Every so often, she risked a glance at him – at the well-defined lines of his profile and the flecks of grey hair, which were weirdly sexy.
The quiet ease about him and that baffling pull – the one she wasn’t supposed to feel – kept humming quietly beneath her ribs all the way back to the motorway.
‘You one hundred per cent ok with this crazy idea?’ he asked, and she knew he was talking about the fake date.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Good… But we should probably have some rules.’
‘Something like the contract in Fifty Shades of Gray?’
He snorted, and she laughed too.
‘Well, that’s point one,’ he said. ‘No dungeons, chains, whips or anything like that.’
Clara chuckled. ‘You’re such a spoilsport.’
‘Someone has to be. But seriously, I don’t want any misunderstandings. And I certainly don’t want you doing anything you feel uncomfortable about.’
‘I trust you,’ she said. ‘It’s not like you’re wild enough to expect me to do anything crazy.’
‘I’m definitely not that. Maybe once, long ago, in my youth, I made some suspect choices, but not now. This is just a surface arrangement, nothing beyond that. We don’t even have to hold hands or anything.’
‘That’s fine, though I don’t mind doing that if the moment arises.’
‘Thank you.’
Her gaze lingered on his face, tracing the concerned set of his jaw, the faint stubble along his chin. And then, annoyingly, her imagination went rogue – drifting lower, down to his shoulders and those rolled-up sleeves.
Was he ever wild these days? Maybe between the sheets…
Oh, brilliant. Now her brain was lusting again. She bit the inside of her cheek, but it didn’t help. Those biceps weren’t exactly helping her composure either – solid and tanned, shifting as he steered. How good would they feel if he ever—
No. Stop.
Where were these thoughts even coming from? This wasn’t supposed to happen with Sam. This was Kerr-level daydream territory. And yet here she was, watching the man beside her and wondering if “steady, dependable Sam” had a whole other side she’d never seen. And would she ever?