Page 59 of Craving Consequences

“Any particular reason?”

I suck in a breath. “Just until after Lauren’s birthday party this weekend.”

We hit the stoplights at the corner of Chestnut and Windsor Way. It gives Lachlan full opportunity to pivot his head in my direction.

“You’re still throwing the party?”

Of course. My entire plan hinges on this weekend. It needs to happen, and it needs to happen in order.

“Yes,” I choke out.

He raises a hand and lightly scratches his chin. Despite it being early summer, his skin is a warm sun-kissed gold from hours working outdoors. His dark strands curl around the collar of his flannel and I know he’ll be sheering it short any day now —he calls it his summer cut. I prefer this length. When it’s wild and unruly and falls over his brow. Perfect for grabbing fistfuls to hold on to while...

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Lost in the hot ocean of my own fantasy, I’m not fast enough to look away when he turns his head and catches me staring. Probably with some drool running down my chin.

Our eyes lock for a heartbeat too long and I feel that click all the way down to my center. My heart jackhammers in my chest, a frantic patter that I’m sure everyone in Jefferson can hear.

But as quickly as it happened, he breaks the connection when the light changes and he has to merge with the flow of traffic, leaving me struggling to catch my breath.

I turn my head away to breathe, to calm the overwhelming waves only to find myself caught in pools of liquid silver. Eyes so deep, I’m drowning all over again only this time, I’m bombarded with images of them looking up at me while I cradled the thick cap of his cock in my channel.

The place in question pulses in awareness. A fierce pang that has my knees pulling together to soothe the ache.

“Why are you still having the party, Evie?” Van murmurs, breaking me out of my insanity.

Evie.

No one, not even my parents have ever called me Evie. I should hate it, but the sound of it, so soft and endearing rolling off his lips has my chest fluttering. So, I leave it. I let him be the only one.

I focus instead on his question. On the weight of it filling the cabin. I swallow audibly and look forward — the only safe place.

“It’s complicated.”

His fingers rough with years of working with his hands capture my chin. It’s so unexpected, so out of place I’m not quick enough to react when I’m forced to stay captive to his gaze. The pad of his thumb glides — I tell myself unintentionally — along the curve of my bottom lip, but my head is so fuzzy, I can’t be sure.

“Try me,” he presses, still refusing to set me free.

Oh, how I would love to try him. To undo my belt, climb into his lap like I had last night and do it all over again. But that’s not what he means.

“You’ll think less of me,” I partially tease.

“Never.” The immediate response holds no lie. No half truths. Simple. To the point.

I know I have to give them a good reason. Something that won’t raise red flags or have them try to talk me out of it. It can’t be so unrealistic they call me on my bullshit either.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I whisper softly, options for emotions over logic. “I’m furious and hurt, but it’s bigger than me.”

“How so?”

That same thumb ghosts my cheek, warming the spot and sending tingles down my spine.

“I can confront them. Call them every name in the book. Tell them I never want to see them ever again. I can cancel the party, eat the cost and move on with my life, but it’s not that simple.” I pause to draw in a breath. “By noon, every person in Jefferson will know what happened. I will become the girl who can’t hang on to her man. The one who couldn’t satisfy him so he had to look elsewhere. I’ll be ridiculed and torn apart. Made to feel like it was all my fault. Meanwhile, Lauren will be crucified. They’ll call her a whore and a homewrecker. She’ll lose her job and her clients. No woman wants someone capable of stealing their man to cut their hair. Part of me thinks she deserves it, but it would fall down on you, too, Mr. ... Van. They’ll call you an unfit father who tried your best, but clearly should have listened when people told you, you needed a woman’s touch.”

I hate that I have to hit reality home with hurtful truths, but it has to be stressed. He has to understand. I know I’m getting through to him when his jaw tenses and his eyes harden.

I push on.

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