Page 48 of Total Shutdown

She shoots me a look of disdain. “I slept with him before he got a promotion, and now it’s awkward as fuck.”

The second Collins says it, her face drops like she knows she shared too much.

Every muscle in my body contracts—jealousy, hurt, discomfort, white-hot anger surging through me. Did she compare him to me? Has she been with him since that night we were together? Fuck, is she dating other people right now?

My best efforts to disguise the abundance of emotions roaring through me fails, and I close my eyes slowly, my forearm slipping down the steering wheel until its firmly gripped in my palm.

“Sawyer, look at me,” Collins says quietly, her voice way softer than normal.

“I’m good,” I lie. “This probably isn’t even a real date. You should be able to talk to your friends about other guys.”

And now I’m voluntarily friend-zoning myself.

A warm palm lands on my right thigh, and I slowly open my eyes at the feeling of her touch—one I find myself craving way too often.

“Look at me,” she repeats, reminding me of the time I asked her to do the same in her apartment.

I do as she asks and see nothing but kindness.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Cameron. There never was. He’s a dickhead to me and I probably accept more than I should because I love working with bikes. I have zero interest in ever going back there with him.”

This time, I’m slammed with a tidal wave of relief, followed by intensifying anger. “What do you mean, he’s a dick to you?” I half growl, my dormant alpha male further stirring to life.

She grins, and I can’t work out if it’s because she likes my protective nature or if she enjoys seeing me wound up, period. “You don’t need to defend me or anything.”

“On the contrary.” I bristle. “I defend people I care about, whether I’m dating them or not.”

Eyes wider than before, Collins goes to reply, but then stops.

I shift the truck into gear, thinking better than to say any more. Still, I’m not retracting my comment because I mean it. I do care about her. I care if someone’s mean to her or treats her like shit. No one gets to do that. She might be hard on the outside, but I’m slowly seeing all the softness that lies beneath the impermeable exterior she portrays.

“Where are you taking me?” she finally asks as I pull out of the lot and onto the road.

“Ever been to the Botanic Garden?”

She shakes her head. “No. Is that where we’re headed?”

I take a left. “Yeah. We should catch the light as it fades behind the trees. It’s really pretty this time of year. Then I got us tickets to the opening night of the light show they hold each year.”

She smiles, one that’s sweet and all warmth. “I only have this thin jacket and scarf.”

Taking another left, I side-eye her carefully, unadulterated satisfaction purring through my veins. “Guess you’ll have to use one of my Blades jackets I keep in the trunk.”

I expect her to kick back against the idea, but she doesn’t as she turns to look out the passenger window, daylight already starting to fade.

Something shifts between us—I can sense it as it settles inside my truck. Acceptance, comfort, maybe even a silent admission that she likes me on a deeper level. The idea of Collins wearing my jacket is simple and hardly a big commitment, yet it feels seismic, and I feel borderline adolescent as the visual of her wrapped in something that carries my scent plays out in front of me. I already know which jacket I’m going to pull out—the one I frequently wear to early morning skate. A couple of hours of her wearing that should keep it smelling like her for weeks as I drive to the rink at the ass crack of dawn.

In spite of the warmth that fills my chest on the drive to the garden, I can’t shake the underlying knowledge that, in all likelihood, this is temporary. Collins, in my truck, riding and spending time with me—it’s all subject to a time limit.

Her priority is living her life and doing all the things that make her happy, and I can’t say I blame her for that. I guess we only live once.

I only wish that priority included me.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

COLLINS

Oh Jesus, fuck, he smells good.

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