Page 41 of The Front Runner
“I’m a smart person. I was valedictorian of my graduating class at vet school. I have an IQ of one forty. People like me don’t pull stunts like this and expect to get away with it.”
Okay, she’s really spiralling. “Mira—”
“And with you? God. What the fuck am I thinking?” Her hand closest to me jerks through her hair. “You’re blond, for crying out loud. They’ll know immediately. I’ve never batted an eye at a blond guy. Me having a type has been a running joke for years.”
Yeah, jokes on you.
My hand darts out and clamps down on her thigh. Her skin is smooth and warm and just the feel of her sends sparks up my arm.
“Mira.” She stops ranting and stares down at my hand on her leg. “It’s going to befine. I’m good at schmoozing. I’ll take care of you. I’ve got this. I’m not even that blond.” She just sits there, frozen. Staring at my hand. The one that still hasn’t let go of her leg. I could so easily slide it up her thigh and pull her panties to the side. A good orgasm would probably take the edge off. My dick twitches at the thought, and I force myself to focus on the road. “Do you trust me?”
She leans back in her seat and looks out the window. She doesn’t make a move to withdraw my hand, but she goes quiet for an extended period.
If I wasn’t listening carefully, if I wasn’t hanging on her every breath, I might not have heard her say, “I think I do.”
14
Mira
We approachthe front door of my parents’ white bi-level split house, surrounded by a sprawling yard that butts up against flat fields filled with blueberry bushes. They keep it tidy, but the house looks dated. It’s not something I’ve ever felt self-conscious about, but with Stefan here, I feel like I might barf.
His house is so opulent in comparison, his wealth so staggering next to the small working farm I grew up on. He’s so damn polished next to my family. I told him to dress casually, so he wore a white dress shirt with a pair of navy-blue chinos. And somehow, I still don’t feel like he looks casual.
He’s cuffed the hem and put on a pair of loafers with no socks. I suppose for him, this is dressed down. But there’s something about the way he just oozes class. He looks like he belongs in a magazine shoot for casual cool. It’s tripping me out. How can he be so calm about pretending to a group of perfect strangers that we’re dating?
I’mtripping.They’re going to see right through it.
My hand wraps around the door handle, and I freeze. Once I turn this handle, there’s no going back. Is this one of those moments Hank was talking about? A moment that can change the path of your life forever. One simple turn of a worn brass knob.
“Are you installing important updates?” Stefan chuckles from behind me.
How is he joking at a time like this?
He steps in closer, and his hand lands at the small of my back while the other lifts my free hand. His lips press against my palm just like the time before, and my body hums—just like the time before.
I wish he’d stop touching me. And not because I don’t want him touching me. It’s because I do. And I shouldn’t. I can still feel the shape of his hand on my bare thigh like a brand. One I hope never fades or heals.
I’m so fucked up.
“Let’s go Mira-bot. It’s going to be fine. I’ve got you.” His body presses in close to mine, and I internally chastise myself for melting toward him.
I’m not sure when Dalca the Dick became a comfort to me, but I’m too stressed to fight it right now. He feels like a wall of lean muscle behind me. Tall and firm and reassuring.
I twist the handle and swing the door open.
In a matter of seconds, the smell of cumin hits me, and moments later, my mom calls out, “Mira! You’re here!”
She stands at the top of the stairs. Lines of gray streak her brown hair, and she’s wearing some baggy cotton dress with feather earrings and a pair of very broken-in Birkenstocks. My mom is a hippie at heart, and while we’re very different women, I can’t help but smile at the sight of her. Before I moved out to Gold Rush Ranch, I was still living at home, and as lame as that was for a woman in her mid-twenties, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss my parents—and my Nana who lives with them too. When you go from seeing your family every day to a couple of times a month, it’s an adjustment.
“Hi, Mama.”
She hustles down the stairs and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me into a tight squeeze. “Oh, my baby. It’s so nice to see you.”
I feel like she’s suffocating me. Or maybe I just can’t breathe with Stefan standing so close. She holds me back eventually and looks over my shoulder. “And who have we got here?”
My throat constricts, and I already know I’m going to blow this.
“Mrs. Thorne, I’m Stefan. Such a pleasure to meet you.” Stefan reaches around me and extends his hand to shake my mother’s. His other hand falls to the small of my back, where it always does. It feels comforting having him there, propping me up. My body never fails to come alive for him.
