Page 26 of Made for Wilde
For a second, I think about what it would be like to have her in my truck. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes with her close enough to touch. Her scent filling the cab. The sound of her breathing. That goddamn way she has of looking at me when she thinks I'm not paying attention.
My fingers fly across my phone screen as I type.
Me: Stay inside where it’s warm. I’m on my way.
SIX
CHARLOTTE
The beauty school'sfront entrance offers pathetic shelter from the storm. Rain pounds the small awning above my head, overflowing the gutters in sheets. Every few seconds, the wind shifts and sprays ice-cold water across my legs.
I pull my jacket tighter and check my phone again.
7:23 PM.
Koda texted twenty minutes ago that he was on his way, and I've been standing here ever since, trying to convince myself I made the right choice.
I could have called a tow truck or waited until morning and dealt with it then. I could have even asked Adrian for help, although the idea of owing him another favor made my skin crawl.
But when I'd been standing next to my useless car, trying to figure out what to do, I'd pulled out the piece of paper with Koda's number on it instead.
My hands had shaken when I hit send, and they're still shaking now.
What is he thinking right now, driving through this storm to come get me? Does he think I'm using him? That I'm some helpless kid who can't handle her own problems?
The anxiety twists in my stomach.
I shift my weight and wrap my arms around myself against another gust of wind.
Koda responded so fast to my text. Less than two minutes after I sent it, like he'd been waiting for an excuse to help me. Or maybe like he felt obligated.
Ugh, what if he feels obligated?
What if this is just one more responsibility he has to shoulder because of Dad, because of some unspoken promise they made years ago to look out for each other's families?
What if I'm reading everything wrong?
The way he looked at me at The Summit could have been nothing more than surprise at seeing me grown up. The careful distance he keeps could be appropriate boundaries, not the restraint I want it to be. This morning at the diner, when he'd called me sweetheart and paid for my coffee, maybe that was just him being kind. Maybe I'm the only one feeling this pull between us, this current of something I can't name and shouldn't want.
Headlights cut through the rain at the end of the street.
The truck moves slowly through the flooded road. Even through the downpour, I can see the wipers working furiously. The truck pulls up to the curb and comes to a stop. Then the driver's side door opens, and Koda steps out into the storm.
Rain immediately soaks his jacket, plastering his hair to his head, but he doesn't seem to notice. He just walks around the front of the truck with purpose and pulls open the passenger door for me.
My heart flips in my chest.
"Hop in," he calls out to me.
I run down the sidewalk and climb inside. Koda shuts the door firmly behind me, sealing me into the warm cab, then jogs back around to the driver's side. He climbs back behind thewheel and cranks the heat up. Then he reaches into the back seat, pulls out a gym towel and hands it to me.
"What's your address?" He asks.
I give it to him, and he nods, putting the truck in gear.
We pull out onto the main road. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the sound of rain hammering the windshield and the rhythmic thump of the wipers.
"Thanks so much for rescuing me," I finally say, clutching the towel. "I didn't know who else to call."
