Page 89 of Bad Boy for Hire
Her pulse sped up as she drove closer to his house. This was it. She had this. She stopped short of turning into the driveway to let out not one car but two—a black SUV she didn’t recognize and Ant’s truck.
Window down, Ant tugged on the brim of his fedora to say hello, his face expressionless. No telling what he and Xavier had discussed. She waved back, and he left, and then she parked in the driveway.
She glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven, the sun lower in the sky than when she’d left work. She’d taken her time leaving, visiting Sugar Hi, and driving here. But now she was out of time.
A small voice suggested she could handle this later, maybe after she interrogated Lou for intel. Surely, Lou could extract that intel from Ant. But May had come this far. She was already here. And this needed to happen.
Not later. Now.
The house was exactly as she remembered it: beautiful, expansive. One of those lake houses you drive by on a boat and admire from afar. Except she knew it intimately, because she knew Xavier intimately. She’d been inside his house over and over. She’d made love to him beneath the skylight in his bedroom, had eaten breakfast with him in the kitchen, and had lounged on the deck by the lake on several occasions.
She walked to the porch, climbed the steps, and took a steeling breath. Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door swung open. There he was. The object of her torment and affection. She’d pictured him wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with his thick beard and styled hair. He ticked every one of those boxes and a few more she hadn’t counted on.
He was real. Solid. Present. Her first instinct was to throw herself into his arms and beg him to work this out with her.
Dammit. Being in love sucked.
He propped a shoulder on the doorjamb, relaxing into that bad-boy lean she adored so much. An accidentally sensual smile followed. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She knotted her fingers together. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your guys’ night.”
“It was impromptu. And you didn’t. Come in.”
She hesitated, worrying that setting foot inside his house would erode her willpower as it had every other time she’d been here. Because God, he smelled good.
She blew out a breath, squared her shoulders, and walked inside anyway. She couldn’t have a discussion this major while standing on the porch.
“Would you like a water?” he offered. “Or I can make tea.”
“Water is fine.” She was parched after the decaf. “I ate Sugar Hi for dinner, so I apologize if I’m a little wired.”
“Good choice.” He handed her a glass of water. He gathered three empty beer bottles and dropped them into the recycling bin before also pouring himself a glass.
“You’re sure I didn’t interrupt?”
“Cross my heart. I was going to come to you tonight, so you saved me the trip.”
“Oh?” That surprised her. After four days of silence, she’d assumed that the next contact was up to her.
“Yeah. You’re right. We have a lot to talk about.” He gestured to his house generally. “The only question is where should we talk?”
Not the bedroom, she thought but didn’t say.
“Here is fine.” The living room was the most neutral spot since she’d had sex with Xavier on the kitchen table. But when they settled side by side on the couch, she remembered more than one make-out sesh that had gotten out of hand here as well.
“God, you look great,” he said softly. He was hurting. She could see the pain in his eyes. She was hurting too. She could feel it in her bones. The fatigue. The worry. The doubt. The love.
“I need to speak before I lose my nerve,” she told him.
A dash of worry flitted over his face, but he nodded all the same.
“I’m not searching for stability outside of myself any longer.”
His mouth turned down, but he didn’t interrupt, which gave her ample room to explain.
“When I was with Prescott, I thought stability was what I wanted. After the rug-pull of my mom dying and my dad walking away, stability was high on my list. I’ve always known it isn’t guaranteed, but I’ve recently discovered that stability is what I say it is. That grounded feeling comes from me. Not outside of myself. I decide how I feel. I decide how my future looks. And that makes me feel powerful.”
“That’s good.” His voice cracked, even as he smiled.
