Page 7 of After Party

“You’re the best one for the job, officer,” she said.

Yeah he was. And right now he didn’t want to take her home. He wasn’t worried that she was too drunk to be safe, but she’d be…alone. That was one thing that Peyton had been too often in her life according to the things he’d heard. Even when her parents had been in the same house, she’d essentially been on her own. Peyton liked to party because she liked to have a good time. Hell, she liked tomakea good time for the people around her. But she really didn’t like being alone. So he kept driving.

And the conversation thankfully turned to recent gossip about other people.

They talked about Lucy and Dean. And Carrie and Chase. And April and Steve. There had been a lot of hook-ups last weekend. They didn’t even get to the current weekend before he looked up in the mirror after a particularly long silence and found her asleep.

His heart thumped in his chest again. She really was sweet underneath the don’t-mess-with-me vibe. And the put-me-up-against-the-wall-and-fuck-my-brains-out vibe. Scott cleared his throat again and reluctantly pulled into the alley behind her house where her garage sat. There was a walk leading to the back kitchen door that she used most often.

“Hey, Trouble, we’re home.” He put the car into park and turned to look over the seat.

She didn’t move.

Knowing it was a terrible idea to touch her at all, he reached back and poked at her knee with one finger. Even the pad of that single digit registered the heat of her skin through the silk of the stockings. “Peyton.”

She groaned softly and turned her whole face into his sweatshirt.

Scott wanted nothing more than to throw the car into drive and whisk her off to…anywhere else. Or to take her inside. And stay.

Usually when she mentioned them sleeping together, he promptly asked her on a date. That usually shut down the seduction quick. She always said she was allergic to relationships. But once she’d told him hotly that the last thing he should want was her doing anything for him that didn’t involve her mouth and his dick—in exactly those words. He’d pressed her about that and she’d finally told him that she wanted nothing to do with trying to make or keep someone else happy. It was too much pressure and the world would be a better place if everyone was just in charge of theirownhappiness.

But he didn’t believe her.

Because of her cakes. He attended a lot of the birthday and anniversary and surprise parties in this town. Peyton was responsible for over ninety percent of the cakes consumed in this town and it was obvious she spent a lot of time designing and decorating each one to make them special. And she lit up when someone complimented her.

Besides that, she would throw herself in front of a bullet for a friend. And she might seem happiest on a bar stool at the Come Again but he suspected it was less about the liquor and a lot more about the people. She was the one that led the karaoke, got people onto the dance floor, told the best jokes and always convinced everyone to stay for “just one more.”

She was something. And he wanted her with an intensity that was becoming a problem. He could be stubborn and patient. But damn if Peyton wasn’t possibly even more stubborn.

“Come on. I’ll walk you up to the door.” He got out of the car before he decided to take her to his place. He wanted to just tuck her into his big bed so she could sleep somewhere safe with someone in the next room. Where she wouldn’t wake up alone. And then he wanted to make her breakfast in the morning. And maybe lunch.

What he wanted was to fucking take care of her. And that was a very bad idea.

Besides, taking a drunk woman home to his bed without her consent was not cool. Even if he didn’t plan to be in that bed with her.

Her door was still shut when he got around the car and she didn’t move when he pulled the door open.

“Trouble?”

“I don’t wanna go in.” She hugged his sweatshirt tighter and rubbed her cheek against it.

“You have to, babe.”

She shook her head, her eyes still shut tight.

He really wanted her to get out on her own. Because touching her was risky.

“P, come on.” He reached for her ankle and squeezed.

“You should just come in here with me,” she said, drawing her leg up…and taking his hand with it.

Too fucking tempting. They were behind her house at just after two a.m. She shared the alley with the whole block, but there was no house to the east and the west side of her yard was blocked by a huge hedge. The house behind her belonged to Mrs. Tardin and the almost ninety-year-old had likely been in bed with her hearing aids out for a good four hours now. There was no light other than the full moon and there was a beautiful woman in the backseat of his car inviting him in with her. If this wasn’t a perfect scenario he didn’t know what was. Other than the fact that she’d been drinking. And that he actually was a nice guy who didn’t act like all the other guys did around her. On purpose.

When her foot got to the level of her opposite knee, he let go of her. Reluctantly and with plenty of regret. Because she could have been wearing baggy, ratty sweatpants and he’d still want to continue running his hand up her inner thigh.

But she was definitely not wearing baggy, ratty sweatpants tonight.

The silky stockings ended at mid-thigh. And the silky skin started. And now he was wondering if she was wearing panties.

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