Page 83 of That Moment
We walk the short distance together. He carries my bag even though I could. At my BMW, he opens the door like a gentleman. He leans in and slides the coffee into the cup holder and places my purse on the passenger seat.
When he straightens, our eyes catch. Linger. All the things we didn’t say last night crowd the small space between us.
Do you want more? Do I? Can we?
He reaches for me, one big palm cupping my jaw, the other spanning the column of my throat, steady and warm. The kiss he gives me isn’t the teasing, greedy one when he wants to leave me aching and needy. Nor is it the wicked one when he wants to send me away, remembering just how deeply he fucks me. It’s slower, deeper, a different heat entirely.
My fingers curl in his shirt. I let myself lean, just for a breath. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead to mine for two heartbeats and then three, like he’s syncing us on purpose.
“Go,” he murmurs, almost a smile. “Before I change my mind and drag you back to the truck.”
I swallow, throat tight. “Thanks.”
He steps back, hands dropping to his pockets, shoulders sagging like he isn’t ready to watch me leave. I climb in and shut the door, starting the engine and putting it into drive before I jump out and ask him to run away together.
As I angle the rearview mirror, I catch him in the reflection… standing there in the growing light, cap low, watching me leave. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t wave. Just stands solid as themountains behind him, eyes on me like a tether I can’t see but feel anyway.
The ache in my chest deepens, a quiet, steady fullness that feels a lot like falling. I back out slowly, fingers tight on the wheel, and I swear I can still feel the heat of his palm on my thigh all the way down Main.
Chapter 14
Scotty
Ican’t remember the last time I walked into work feeling this good. My chest’s loose, lighter than it’s been in weeks, and damned if I don’t catch myself almost smiling at nothing.
Of course, the guys notice.
“Look at him,” Cody says loud enough for half the crew to hear. “Boss must’ve had somereallygood sleep. He’s practically glowing.”
That sets off a chain reaction of laughter, whistles, and someone clapping a wrench against the bench like they’re starting a parade.
I grunt, shaking my head, but it doesn’t stop Jesse from chiming in. “Yeah, Boss, was that… Adrienne Slade’s car, I saw pulling out of here before the crack of dawn?”
Pete laughs. “Is that true? You letting one of the Slades chauffeur you around now?”
“She wasn’t chauffeuring me anywhere,” I correct. “I was just bringing her back to her car so she had time to go home before work.”
The whole shop perks up at that.
“Damn,” another voice calls from the back. “You finally pulled a Slade? Outta your league, man, but respect.”
Usually, I’d shut this shit down with a glare and get back to work. Pretend it’s nothing. Pretend she’s nothing. But she’s not. Not anymore.
All I can think about is her sprawled across my bed a few hours ago, hair messy from my hands, lips swollen from my mouth. Her laugh when I told her to stay. The way she looked at me like I wasn’t some small-town mechanic she was slumming it with, but… more.
I roll my eyes at the crew, wiping grease from my palms with a rag. “Y’all got a lot of free time today, huh? Maybe we’ll all end up working late then, since we have so much time to stand around and chat.”
They just laugh, egging each other on, but I don’t bother correcting them. For once, I don’t feel like denying it. Hell, I like the way it sounds. Out of my league or not, Adrienne Slade was in my bed last night. And I’m still tasting her every time I breathe.
I push through the office door, call sheet on my mind, but Dolly’s quick to catch me. She glances up from her computer, one brow arched, spoon mid-air with a blob of yogurt. “Well, hell must’ve frozen over. Scotty smiling before nine a.m.? I should take a picture.”
I shake my head, reach for the stack of papers on the edge of her desk. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Mm-hmm.” She watches me too closely, chewing slowly like she’s onto something. “You’ve got that look.”
I grunt, flipping through the sheets. “What look?”
“The kind of look a man gets when he didn’t sleep much… but not because of insomnia.”
