Page 49 of Small Town Frenzy
Volleying my gaze between the highway and her, I hit the gas pedal. “I can’t wait to take my time with you.”
Her breathing picks up. “I can’t either,” she whispers breathily and reaches over to rub the back of my neck.
I spy the winery sign lit up in the distance. When she sees it, she puts her feet back on the floorboard and sits upright with her hands tucked in her lap. I turn in and drive the other fifty yards to the guard shack.
Oh joy, I get to deal withJoeagain. He steps out, adjusting his belt that’s hanging down from the giant ring of keys hooked to a loop of his pants. It jingles with each step. For a security guard, he doesn’t seem to have a sense of sneaking up on the enemy. “What do we have here?”
I don’t worry about safety out on the ranch, and it’s accessible in any direction if someone wants to hop a fence. But Cricket is different, and she has a son to worry about. Ihave the need to know they’re actually safe out here, especially with this heehaw “guarding” the property.
Cricket leans over like she did the last time. “Hey Joe, it’s us again.”
Shining his flashlight in my face, he’s fucking lucky he turns it to the dashboard just as fast. With his gaze locked on Cricket, he asks, “Same as last night? Just a drop-off again?”
It’s funny how I suddenly don’t exist as he peers over me like the driver’s seat is vacant. Her eyes find mine in the darkened cab, excitement making the little light from the shack shine brighter while a wild streak runs through them. With the smallest of nods like we’re in this together, she replies, “He’s staying.”
That’s an invitation I won’t turn down.
Joe sighs a little too heavily for my liking. He’s getting on my last nerve. “How long?” he asks, just to shred that nerve into smithereens.
“As long as he wants, Joe. Have a good night.” She’s not curt, but her tone is firm. It’s the nicest way I’ve ever heard someone say it’s none of your fucking business. She’s better than me.
The arm of the gate lifts, and I drive on, not wanting to make a spectacle of what she said, but I’m riding that wave all the way down the property and up again to reach the “cottage” as she likes to call this big house. I shift into Park, cut the lights so they don’t shine on the house, and let it idle. Angling to face her, I chuckle. “I’m staying the night, huh?”
With a shrug, she replies, “Assumed you wouldn’t mind.” But her cute face cringes. “I hoped you wouldn’t.”
“You assumed correctly.” I cut the engine, and we both get out. While we walk quietly to the front door, she steals a glance at me that I catch. With her eyes forward, though, I watch the smile I caused bloom like a night flower acrossher cheeks. As if she couldn’t be more breathtaking . . .She is.
Under a full moon, our mouths crash together as her back lands against the side of the porch. I shove a knee between her legs and plant my hands above her head. Kissing her becomes erratic and carnal. I lean down to scoop her up and take her inside, but she tugs me by my belt loops toward the door first. With her hand behind her back on the knob, and her mouth still attached to mine, she pulls back. Her head hits the wood, but it doesn’t deter her from opening the door.
This is it.
I finally get to be with her again.
Before I step inside, I say, “I’ve waited four years to be with you again.”
Her grin is naughty and equally sweet. Pulling me inside the house, she whispers, “Let’s not waste any time, then.”
CHAPTER 21
Griffin
Cricket hasn’t wasted a minute.As soon as she hangs her hat on the hook by the front door, we tiptoe like we’re sneaking out of our parents’ house and not sneaking into her own.
She slows and walks even more carefully when we pass the second door on the left. Glancing back at me, she smiles and picks up her pace again before pulling me into the last room on the right.
My eyes aren’t quite adjusted to the darkness, but when they do, I look around at her bedroom. Bed against the far wall and two nightstands with a couch at the end of the bed anchoring it. I approve of the large screen TV hanging on the opposite wall from the bed.
The curtains are open, and although the moon isn’t hanging over this side of the house, some of its light still manages to filter inside. “It’s very . . . neat.”
She laughs after shutting the door. It’s not as boisterous as it was at Whiskey’s, but it holds the same joy in it. “I don’tthink you’d be surprised that I have someone who helps me out.”
“It’s not a crime, Little Chirp. I paid someone to clean my apartment in St. Louis—not because my mom didn’t teach me to clean up after myself, but because I was exhausted and busy icing my body when I dragged my ass in after practice or being on the road.”
After locking the door, she comes closer, taking smooth but calculated steps as she approaches. “My mom didn’t teach me how to clean because she’s never cleaned a day in her life.” I’m still not judging, though I think she set me up for a reaction. But cleaning isn’t why we snuck into her house and tiptoed to her bedroom. And I have no intention of letting that steam slip away.
I meet her halfway, cupping her cheeks and angling her face up for our lips to meet in the middle. We start slower than we did outside the front door, sweeter, and when her hands tug to untuck my shirt, I deepen it.
Suddenly putting air between us, she rips the snaps apart and smiles like she got herself a treat when she sees me.
