Page 32 of That Moment
I know one damn thing for sure, though… the next time he leans in to tease me, he better be prepared to ruin things because I won’t let him stop.
Chapter 6
Scotty
The garage is quiet again.
Her taillights fade down the road until there’s nothing but the echo of gravel and my heart beating too damn loud in the silence.
Fuck, I should’ve just done it. I should’ve kissed her.
What’s the point in holding back when we both know what’s sitting between us? Adrienne knows who I am, what I am. She’s seen my world up close: late nights, calloused palms, and dirty fingernails that will never be clean enough to look good in a tux, a half-fixed ranch that is in need of a lot of TLC that I haven’t had the time for. She knows exactly what I can offer her… and what I can’t.
And still, she keeps looking at me like that.
I drag a hand down my face and laugh bitterly. “You’re a damn coward, Bescher.”
For years, I told myself keeping my distance was the right thing to do. Not just because kissing her would break something we couldn’t fix, but because I think I’ve always known that deep down, Adrienne has wanted to leave this town. She thrived when she was away for college in Chicago and then Boston, andcouldn’t shut up about her internship in LA. Her brothers and I never heard the end of it. And after her admission the other night that she isn’t sure what she wants anymore, I get the feeling that running away from it all might still be on the table.
But tonight, when she looked up at me, her breath unsteady, lips parted, I wanted nothing more than to close that last inch and find out if she still tastes like every dream I’ve never let myself have.
But instead, you walked away again like the damn coward you are.
I shove the rag into my back pocket and head for the light switch, flipping them off one by one until the garage is swallowed in darkness. The only thing left is the faint orange glow from the office window and the steady hum of the soda machine in the corner.
When I step outside, I take a second to look up at the clear sky, my eyes quickly scanning for the constellations Adrienne pointed out the other night.
My head says I did the right thing. That Adrienne Slade isn’t meant for a man like me. She’s got an empire at her fingertips, a family name that opens every door, a mind that could outthink most of the country before breakfast. And me? I’ve got a high school education, a career in a garage I don’t even own, a rundown ranch, and two old lady horses who not only listen to me bitch most nights, but they also understand me better than most people.
But my heart… Christ, my heart doesn’t care.
It wants her. All of her. The laugh that bubbles out of her when she wins an argument. The way she smells like sweet honey and wildflowers even after a day in the shop. The look she gives me when she’s pretending she’s not scared of what this could turn into. My heart wants a life with her, mornings tangledin her sheets, nights spent on my porch with her legs in my lap, and the stars hanging low above us.
But my head… my practical, broken, too-damn-honest head keeps reminding me I’m just thinking with my dick. That wanting her isn’t the same as deserving her.
By the time I pull into the ranch, I’m wound so tight I could snap. The porch light flickers as I kill the engine and step out.
Shit, another fucking thing I need to fix.
Rose and Priscilla neigh softly from the barn, sensing my arrival. I lean against the truck door and stare out at the dark pasture. The air smells like hay and the faint trace of her perfume that somehow clings to my shirt.
“You’re losing it,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my jaw.
I don’t bother turning on the lights as I step inside my house and wander through the kitchen. I strip my shirt off, toss it toward the hamper that’s sitting in the hallway, and fall onto the couch. The ceiling fan spins slowly above me. I close my eyes to get some relief, but all I see is her, lips parted, waiting.
Even after jerking off in the shower twice, I still can’t fucking sleep. Instead, I spend half the night tossing and turning, trying to talk myself out of fucking this all up.
By morning, I feel like a ghost wearing my own skin. The coffee’s too bitter, the sun too bright. Everything just grates on my nerves.
The guys are already at the shop when I roll in later than usual. Something that never happens and doesn’t go unnoticed. Pete’s blasting old George Strait on the radio while Caleb and Derek argue about torque specs. Normally, the noise grounds me. Today, it’s just static.
I’m under the hood of an F-250 when Pete sidles up beside me, chewing on a toothpick and grinning like an idiot. “You look like shit, boss.”
“Thanks,” I grunt.
“Rough night?”
“Didn’t sleep.”
