Page 58 of It Happened on a Sunday
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” the driver yelps. “The door won’t open until the car stops!”
“So stop the damn car!” Sly orders.
Seconds later, the driver slams on the brakes.
The moment he stops, I throw off my seat belt and lunge for the door, leaving the flowers behind. It’s still locked, but I keep pulling the handle, keep pushing against it so hard that when the driver finally unlocks it I nearly fall out, right into oncoming traffic.
Sly catches my arm with a muttered curse, holding me in place for several seconds as cars whiz by. The moment it clears, he jumps out and pulls me tight against him.
All around us, cars are honking—L.A. traffic is a bitch even when a car doesn’t stop randomly in the middle of the road—but Sly ignores all of it. Instead, he sweeps me into his arms and carries me across two lanes of very pissed-off traffic.
“I can walk,” I tell him as soon as we get to the sidewalk. But he just shoots me a look and keeps moving.
“You can’t carry me forever,” I protest, and this time I wiggle against him in an effort to be put down.
He still doesn’t say anything.
“Damn it, Sly! What are you—”
He shushes me, a reaction I’ve never heard from him before.I’m not one to shut up for any man, let alone one who refuses to tell me what’s going on. But there’s something in Sly’s eyes that has me snapping my mouth shut. It has a lot less to do with my lacking shoes than it does my wanting to stay in his arms. Because being carried bridal style has a whole lot of my body pushed up against a whole lot of his.
I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t feel good. His strong arms around me. The way his hard chest feels against my side. How his too-good-looking face is so close to mine. Most of all, I like how it feels to be held so carefully, and so close to his heart, like it takes no effort at all.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt safe with a man. Even longer since I’ve felt protected. It’s an odd and wonderful and dangerous feeling. Too dangerous.
“You know you have to put me down eventually, right?” I ask when I finally find my voice again. “You can’t carry me through L.A.”
“I’m not planning on carrying you throughallof L.A.”
“Well, then, maybe you should—”
“Can you trust me?” he asks, his wild brown eyes finding mine even as he continues walking. “Two more minutes, that’s all I ask.”
He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world when it’s very definitely not. I’ve only trusted three men in my life: my father, Hayden, and Jarrod. And every single one of them let me down. In the most hurtful, spectacular ways possible.
I’ve been alone for five years not because I have to but because I’ve chosen to be. Life’s a lot safer when you have no expectations of people and they have none of you.
And I’ve been doing fine by myself, thank you very much. Living my life. Doing my concerts. Connecting with fans all over the world. It was enough.
More than enough.
At least until Sly came along and shook everything up so completely that I have no idea how to get back to that version of myself. Or worse, if I even want to.
That’s the scariest thought of all. I worked so hard to get to a place where I was okay. If one afternoon with Sly manages to strip this much of it away, what am I going to be left with if I let myself fall?
What am I supposed to do?
Unwittingly, I make a sound of distress deep in my throat. I clench my teeth together as soon as it comes out, but it’s a case of too little, too late, because Sly definitely heard it.
His arms tighten around me, though his voice softens even more. “We’re almost there.”
I nod, because I can’t trust my voice at this point. And then I do the most embarrassing thing yet: I bury my face in his chest and let him do whatever he wants as I breathe in the warm whiskey-sunshine scent of him.
“I mean it when I say I’ve got you, Sloane,” he whispers against my temple. “Just let me take care of us for a little while.”
Because I don’t know what else to do at this point, I whisper “Okay” and relax against his chest.
It feels good to let my aching muscles rest as he walks me another couple of blocks down the busy, treelined street. Right in front of a tourist merch booth, complete with Hollywood hats, T-shirts, keychains, and flip-flops.
