Page 22 of Crashed
“I’m twenty-five years old. I’ve been looking after myself most of my life.”
Silence, then. “Well, now you have me to do that.” His voice was so low, almost gentle, and it sent a shiver across her skin, dread spiking through her belly. “Promise me, Alex.”
She didn’t understand what was going on here, why he was being like this, but she didn’t have much choice but to agree. “Fine.”
“Thank you, baby. Now go get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll call you tomorrow to make plans.”
She hugged herself. The way he said “baby,” all soft and deep, did funny things to her, things she didn’t want to think about right then, or ever. “Where are we going? How should I dress?”
“I’m thinking maybe we should stay in.” More with the gentle voice, but now with a hint of amusement that was sexy as hell and had her happy places tingling. “If I get my way, clothes will be optional.” Then he hung up.
Shit.
Chapter Six
“They’re here, Alex.”
“Don’t make me go, please. I promise I’ll be good. You won’t even know I’m here,” she said, backing up several steps.
Mr. West’s usually warm brown eyes looked sad when he shook his head. “They won’t let you stay. I’m sorry, honey. I’ve tried, but they don’t think it’s best for you to live here with us.”
She sobbed uncontrollably now. Rusty and Piper clung to her, crying as well, their grip almost painful.
“Please don’t make me. I don’t like it there. I don’t want to?—”
The door opened and a woman with blond hair and small blue eyes walked in. “That’s enough now, Alex. You know you have to go back.”
“Maybe she could just stay tonight,” Mr. West said.
The woman shook her head. “No. That’ll just make it
harder in the long run.” She held out her hand. “Come on now, Alex. It’s time to go.”
She shook her head again and spun around, panic and all kinds of other feelings swirling in her belly, making her feel sick. Without thinking, she ran, ran from the woman trying to take her away, straight through the living room. She saw the window but didn’t stop, had to get away. She wasn’t going back.
Alex shot up in bed, her screams dying in her throat when she realized it was just a dream. The only dream she ever had. She ran shaky hands across her face and pushed her sweat-soaked hair off her face.
Goddammit.
Sitting up, she pulled her knees to her chest. She hadn’t had the dream in months, had hoped it had stopped altogether. She’d suffered night terrors after her parents died in a house fire. Another reason she hadn’t lasted long with any of the foster families she got placed with. No one liked to be woken in the middle of the night by a kid screaming hysterically.
Grabbing her phone, she checked the time. Crap. She’d slept in. Shoving back the covers, she scrambled out of bed and stripped on her way to the bathroom. The warm water pouring over her in the shower helped to ease her stiff muscles. After she dried off, she threw on a pair of shorts and a tank, pulled on socks, and stuffed her feet in her boots.
Then she grabbed an apple off the counter and clomped down the stairs to the garage.
Her phone beeped in her pocket on her way down, and she hated the flutter of anticipation when she checked to see who the text was from. Rusty.
Wake the hell up.
She shoved the phone back in her pocket and tried not to think about the amount of times she’d checked the blasted thing yesterday.
Deacon hadn’t called the day after her midnight dash, like he said he would. Nor did they have their clothing—optional night in. But she had received a few quick text messages to say he was busy. She wasn’t buying it, though.
More like he was pissed off that she’d pulled another runner.
What if he’d decided she was too much trouble? She hadn’t exactly made this easy on him. What if he’d decided to end it and found someone else to be his date? Someone like Candice, for example. She’d bet every cent she had, which wasn’t a hell of a lot, that Candice wouldn’t turn him down.
She’d plant her ass in Deke’s bed, in that flashy apartment, and wouldn’t leave until she was pried out with a crowbar.
