Page 9 of Full Coverage (Boys of Fall)

Partly because he hadn’t yet determined how sober or drunk she was—though if she was too drunk again tonight, he was heading straight to the pond for a cold swim and then a bottle of tequila of his own. He needed an outlet for this pent-up energy. He hadn’t gotten rip-roaring drunk in too long. They said to write drunk and edit sober, but he’d never had a lot of luck with that approach. Between his book and the paper, he’d been far too sober for far too long.

And he wouldn’t kiss Randi in public because he was afraid she’d push him back and demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing. In front of everyone. He wasn’t fucking doing that. Even if he was twenty-nine and past all of those insecurities.

They didn’t talk. Randi held herself stiffly in his arms and seemed to be lost in thought. But as Thomas Rhett switched to Carrie Underwood, Nolan felt her relax a little, and by the time Little Big Town came on, he felt enough tension leave her that he could pull her closer, and she came without a protest. When an old Garth Brooks floated out of the jukebox, she gave a big sigh, stepped completely up against Nolan and rested her head on his shoulder.

Suddenly he felt a lot of his own tightness flow out of him. He didn’t need tequila or a cold swim or even hard-against-the-wall sex. He just needed her in his arms.

Damn. He was in trouble.

She felt good, she smelled good,and when she took her hand from his and wrapped both arms around his neck, Nolan felt a kick in his chest.

Two more songs played before she turned her head toward his face. Her lips were millimeters from his neck when she said, “I’m not drunk.”

He swallowed, his skin feeling hot and a new tension filling his body. This was a whole lot less frustration and unrequited want and a lot more pureneed.

“Glad to hear it.” Really, really glad to hear it.

“The margarita on the table was my first and I didn’t even finish it.”

Nolan pulled back and looked down at her. “Say it.” He had relaxed since getting here—since gettingherup against him. But he wasn’t going to play around and tease about this.

She lifted her head and looked him directly in the eye. “I want to kiss you again.”

He studied her face. She was completely sincere. And sober.

Nolan pulled a long breath in through his nose. A breath full of the scent of peaches. That scent had always made him think of her. He didn’t know if it was her shampoo or a body wash or what. But he intended to find out just how much of her smelled like peaches. “Not here,” he said simply.

She nodded.

He took her hand and started for the door of the bar. He still needed to ask her for the favor he needed, but that could wait until after the kissing. Everything in the world could now wait until after the kissing.

Making out with Miranda Doyle in the bed of a pickup down by the pond had been a long, longtime fantasy. Unfortunately, he no longer had a pickup.

She waved at Annabelle, who was watching them cross the bar with wide eyes and a knowing smile. Nolan didn’t care who saw them leaving or what they thought about the reason.

He stopped by the door though. “You need to pay or give Annabelle a ride home or anything?” he asked Randi.

She reached around him and pushed the door open, nudging him through with her body. “I have a tab and Annabelle has a Jackson.”

Her breasts pressed against his biceps, her feet tangled with his, and Nolan wrapped an arm around her waist to keep them from tumbling onto the stoop of Pitchers.

“Easy, Ladybug,” he said softly.

Randi got her feet under her and jerked upright. “What did you call me?”

He thought fast. Shit. He’d called her Ladybug. What the fuck? They didnothave a relationship that leant itself to nicknames.

But in twelve years, he hadn’t forgotten about that ladybug tattoo.

The door to Pitchers shut behind them, leaving them alone in the suddenly quiet night.

“Nolan? Why did you call me Ladybug?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “Your tattoo.” What was the point in lying about it?

She lifted a brow. “You remember my tattoo?”

She really had no idea how much he knew and remembered about her. And to keep from freaking her out, he decided to downplay. “If it was on your ankle, I might have forgotten.” There was no way in hell he would have forgotten. “But it was on your hip. Kinda low, if I remember right.” He definitely remembered right. “You were wearing purple panties the night you showed me too.”

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