Page 15 of When It's Us
“What? You’re both single,” she says on another laugh.
I scoff and roll my eyes, going back to pacing. “You really think that’s a good idea? We can’t stand each other. Enclosed space, Wrenley. At highway speeds.”
“Oh, stop,” Wren says placatingly. “It’s a few days tops. Quit being a baby. Who knows? You might even have a little fun.” She pumps her eyebrows lasciviously.
“But I’m not ready,” I throw out lamely.
It’s her turn to scoff. “You know as well as I do that you’re already packed for Timber Forge. And have been for days.”
Ugh. I drop my head back to stare at the ceiling. She knows me too well.
“But—”
“No buts.” She nods once, as if that is all there is to say about the situation. “Go get ready. Ask nicely. He’ll wait.”
“I hate you.”
“Use protection!” Wren singsongs before the line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, doing three full laps back and forth in my en suite. This is fine. I’ll tell him I made a mistake. He can hop back in that cold war relic he calls a house and drive his ass right on home.
I’m cranky as hell this morning. And this is the last thing I need.
After watching my neighbors get it on overnight, I’d been halfway to an okay orgasm when the batteries died in my favorite vibe. Granted, I could have gotten up and grabbed a charger or even gone back into the bedroom to grab another of my buddies from their hiding spot in my closet, but I’d been too tired.
I know. Super lame.
Throwing my shoulders back, I march from the room, making sure to tie my robe closed over my underwear. Hutch turns from the window when he hears me enter the living room. I notice all the beer bottles are missing from the table, and my blankets are neatly stacked on the couch along with my pillow. Huh. That’s…unexpected.
His brows come together. “Why aren’t you dressed? Get your shit and I’ll throw it in the Vanagon.”
I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest. “I…may have had a bit too much to drink last night.”
“You think?” He chuckles.
My temper flares, but I tamp it down. It’s not his fault I can’t handle my alcohol. “I’m sorry you came all this way, but I’m not going with you.”
He cocks a brow at me; a knowing look paints his features before he crosses his arms over his chest. “Knew you’d chicken out.”
My hackles raise. Me? Chicken out? I snort and then glare at him.As if.Who the hell does he think he is? He doesn’t know me. I’m about to tell him to get fucked when something Wren said stops me.
Who knows? You might even have a little fun.
“I amnotchickening out,” I grit out.
“Uh-huh. Sure,” he says nonchalantly.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You do realize it’s like a thousand miles from here to Timber Forge.”
“Eleven hundred.” He pauses, brow raised. “So what?”
“We’ll kill each other.”
He stalks toward me until he’s standing so close I have to tip my head back to look up at him.
God, he smells good. Like cedar, something earthy, like leather and bad decisions. Stupid sexy neanderthal.
“What’s the matter, California? Afraid you’ll fall on my dick?” His words slide over my skin, voice low, smooth as honey, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
