Page 63 of Santa's Girl
I managed a shaky smile, my voice soft but certain. “No… that good…”
14
BEAR
My hands were tight on the wheel.
Ten and two. Like I was holding on to something that might rip loose if I let go for even a second.
The Escalade purred under me, but I barely heard it. My knuckles were white. My jaw ached from clenching.
Couldn’t go back to the cabin.
Couldn’t go back to Margie’s, either — not afterthat.
Not with my pulse still thundering in my neck and the taste of her still on my tongue.
What the hell was I thinking?
I pulled out of her driveway like I had somewhere to be. Truth was, I just needed tomove.
She’d invited me in. Set the tone. Flirted. Poured wine. Curled into me on that damn couch like she was made for it.
And I’d let it get away from me.
I’dpulled her outside.Up against her aunt’s house, like some punk in a back alley.
“Idiot,”I muttered, hitting the steering wheel once with the heel of my hand.
She deserved soft sheets and candlelight. Not rough brick and headlights flashing while I had my face buried between her thighs.
I swallowed hard, ashamed of howmuchI’d liked it.
How I’d damn near come just hearing her cry out my name.
And now?
Now I was driving too fast down an empty stretch of highway toward nowhere.
Except... Zack’s.
That shitty little bar off the interstate halfway between town and the mountain. Neon sign always flickering. Music always loud. Crowd always drunk and half-dressed like it was August, not Christmas.
I pulled in and killed the engine. Sat there for a second, breathing.
Then I went inside.
The place smelled like beer, grease, and regret. The music was bumping — old rock mixed with some kind of bass-heavy remix — and the girls at the bar were wearing tank tops and tight jeans like they were in denial about the snow outside.
I slid onto a stool, nodding at the bartender.
“Whiskey,” I said. “Double.”
He poured. I drank.
And for the first time in days, I didn’t feel her warmth against me.
I felt cold.
