Page 88 of The Bronze Garza
“It smelled like cotton candy,” I say as I peel the banana. Adding to clarify, “The blue smoke they threw in the kidnappers’ van.”
“That’s the safe method,” he tells me. “If you weren’t inside, they would’ve used tear gas.”
I stare unseeingly at the banana. “So, bad men are just out there watching and waiting for me, huh?”
“Who’d you tell where you’re staying?”
“No one.”
“You said your stepbrother offered to break you out of there.”
“He did. I figured maybe Daddy told him where I was.”
“So you told your father, then.”
“No.” I frown at him. “Didn’tyou?”
He studies me for a beat, then jerks his chin at the banana. “Eat.”
Does he think I’m lying?
As I bite into the banana, he pulls out his phone and begins to tap out a text to someone.
After I’m done with the banana, he points to the apple.
“Bossy bastard,” I mumble before I obediently sink my teeth into it.
I’m only able to eat half the apple. It feels as if my stomach is getting smaller and smaller each day. I drop the half-eaten fruit onto the dish.
Torin eyes it. “Seriously gotta find someone to help you with that.”
Been there, done that.“Good luck.”
“How do you feel?” he asks me.
“Alive.”
“Good.” He straightens, tucks his phone into his pocket, then leans down and scoops me up like a prince.
Reflexively, my arms lock around his neck, and he strides right out the front gate with me.
I feel like I don’t deserve to be in this man’sclean, precious, glorious, overprotective arms. My feet are bare, my clothes are dirtied, I have duct-tape residue on my face and hands, and I smell like cotton candy smoke. All while he smells like confidence and coffee and fresh Sunday afternoon breeze. I want to snuggle under him like he’s a comforter, go to sleep, and never wake up.
He takes me to his jeep that’s parked behind Monica’s, and buckles me in.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask him.
His warm, calloused palm cups one side of my face, his thumb dusting gently across my cheekbone. “Where do you want to go?”
I turn my face into his touch. It’s like a drug, seeping into me and making me floaty. “With you.”
“Okay.”
“Do you still think I’m beautiful?”
“Thought you wanted to be hot.”
“That was last night.” Flirtatiously, I bat my lashes. “Today I want to be beautiful.”
