Page 32 of Holding On To Good

Christ help him, he’d almost let her. Had wanted her to kiss him.

If only so he could kiss her back.

Except she was drunk and he wasn’t some fucking creep who took advantage of women when they should be taking care of them. Protecting them.

He also wasn’t a masochist.

Willow was his friend. His business partner. But she wasn’t his.

And the last thing he needed was a taste of what he’d never have.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and called Miles.

“Hey,” Miles said, the muffled sounds of the police station in the background. “What’s up?”

“Can you get someone to drive Willow’s car to her place? I don’t want to leave it here all night.”

“Where’s here and why can’t she drive it?”

“Sixty-two Old Lake Road.” Switching his phone to his other ear, he turned on the ignition so he could roll down his window. “And she’s currently too unconscious to drive.”

“What happened? Is she all right?”

“She’s okay. She’s passed out in my truck.”

There was a beat of silence. “Did she pass out before or after you put her in the truck?”

“What difference does that make?”

“A lot,” Miles told him. “Especially when you say things like she’s currently too unconscious. Makes it sound like you have her bound and gagged in the bed of the truck.”

“She’s free of shackles. She celebrated her sister’s upcoming wedding and new baby with too much champagne and I’m taking her home. I don’t want her car sitting here.”

He didn’t want her to worry about finding someone to drive her out here in the morning to get it. He was sure she was going to have other things to worry about.

Like keeping her head from falling off her neck.

“I’ll have Coop drive me over there now,” Miles said. “That way I can check on her when I get to her place, make sure she really is okay.”

“I told you she’s okay. And she’s too far gone to appreciate your flirting.”

“No woman is ever too far gone to appreciate my flirting,” Miles told him.

Shitty part of that? He was probably right.

“Her key is in the glove box,” Urban said. “I’ll text you the code to the door lock.”

And he disconnected the call, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation.

He glanced at Willow. Maybe he wanted one thing more, but as that was never going to happen, he’d just have to do what he always did.

Take what he could get.

Chapter Six

Less than ten minutes later, Urban parked in front of Willow’s house on Chestnut Street. It was cottage style with white-washed brick and steep gables, and the huge living room window and front door were both arched. The house was dark but she’d left the wrought iron lamp post at the end of the flagstone walk on.

He turned off the ignition then turned to her. “Willow.” She didn’t wake. Didn’t move. He tried again. Louder. “Willow?”

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