Page 30 of Best of Me

“Sorry.”

“You didn’t have anything to apologize for last night, and you don’t have anything this morning either. If anything, I’m sorry I didn’t man up and talk to you sooner.”

I glance up at him from beneath my lashes. “You mean that?”

“One hundred percent.” He releases me, and my body instantly misses his. “What are your plans for the day?”

My robe gaps open a little when I shrug and his eyes hone on the exposed tops of my breasts like two green heat-seeking missiles. Seeing my shot, I take it, tossing his earlier words back at him. “Eyes up here, Duke.”

“Touché.”

“I don’t really have any plans. Saturdays are lazy days for me typically. Pjs and Netflix, that kind of thing.”

He checks the time on his watch. “Sounds good; it’s barely nine o’clock. Why don’t you go shower and stuff while I whip us up some food and then we can veg out? You like true crime kind of stuff?”

Mutely, I nod.

“Sweet. You ever seenThe Confession Tapes?”

I’m not positive, but I think I’ve been transported to some kind of alternate dimension. Still, I shake my head no.

He thrusts my towel toward me. “Perfect. Go on and do whatever you need to do and meet me at the couch when you smell the bacon sizzle.”

I nod.Definitely in an alternate dimension. I wonder if I’ll get some kind of plaque in my honor for my inter-dimensional travel? Maybe a guest spot on Ellen?

When I make no move to leave, Duke shoos me away. “Seriously, scram. Shower, brush your teeth.” His eyes roam over my body. “But maybe put that back on?”

With flaming cheeks, I snatch my towel from him and scurry into the bathroom. As I start the water, I notice the towel now smells like Duke, and I have to fight the urge to melt into a puddle on my bath mat; it should be illegal for anyone to smell that delectable.

After my shower, I dress in a pair of cozy terrycloth shorts and a tank, much to Duke’s disappointment. The breakfast he made the two of us—bacon, eggs, and toast—was delicious. Especially as I usually opt for cereal or a smoothie most mornings. Even better, he insisted on doing the dishes afterward.

We spend the rest of the morning on the couch, with him at one end with his feet kicked up on the coffee table and me lying at the other with my toes barely brushing against him. We make it through five episodes ofThe Confession Tapesbefore Nate shows up to chauffeur him back to his car.

Unfortunately, he leaves without us making any kind of plans to hang out again, but at the end of the day, I can’t be upset about it, not really. Honestly, I’m just relieved to know he doesn’t hate me. Not to mention, there’s little to no point in fantasizing over the thought ofmorewith him, even though there is some definite chemistry between the two of us. I mean, my God, he was going to marry my sister. If that doesn’t scream wrong then I don’t know what does.

chapter eighteen

Duke

It’s been two days since everything Mallory really came to a head. Two days that I’ve let slip by without reaching out. Mostly because I’m scared, because what in the hell would I even say?‘Hey, I had a great time sleeping on your small-ass couch, and I can’t stop thinking about you and all of the wicked things I want to do to you…with you. I know I was with your sister, but I want you, too.’Yeah, that’s a whole lot of nope.

“Dude,” Nate says, knocking me out of my thoughts. He’s driving on shift today, leaving me to wallow in the passenger seat.

“What?”

“You’re pouting.”

I scoff, straightening in my seat. “Am not.”

Nate grins. “You sound like Tatum.”

“Do not,” I mutter as he slows to a stop at a red light. He turns to look at me and…fuck, he’s totally right.We both start laughing—that is until a car flies through the intersection from the other side. “Shit!” I yell, thankful as hell the jackass didn’t hit anybody. I flip on the sirens while Nate makes a U-turn to follow.

All too quickly, it becomes apparent the driver has no intention of pulling over. Nate calls in a 10-80—chase in progress—and hits the gas. I’m in constant contact with dispatch over the radio as Nate expertly pursues. They put out a call for any and all available units to assist.

As we near him, the driver increases his speed, which unfortunately lessens his control of the vehicle. We fall back a little—for our safety and theirs. By four miles in, the driver is swerving and sliding all over the two-lane road. My breath lodges in my throat when he crosses the double yellow lines, narrowly avoiding an oncoming SUV. Finally, the driver overcorrects and the vehicle flips twice before landing on its roof and skidding to a stop in a ditch.

I radio a 10-52—ambulance needed—as Nate pulls onto the shoulder. The two of us race from the cruiser, guns drawn; our firearms are a last resort, but in a situation like this, there are too many unknowns and it’s better to be ready for anything. Though, the whole way, I’m begging God for us not to need them.

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