Page 62 of The Front Runner
I am stunned.
Did he seriously just call what happened between us tonight afake dateand then walk away like it was nothing? After I said it was the bestdateever?
Fuck him.
His head shoved between my legs definitely did not feel fake. That line has been crossed. That line has been absolutely wiped off the playing board. And him lobbing that term at me like a grenade stung.
It stung worse than it should have.
I slam my truck door shut and fire it up. I need to get out of here before I kill someone. There are too many things in this truck I could use to commit a crime. And Stefan is far too close and unsuspecting to escape.
It’s hard to make me angry. But when I do finally get there, I find it hard to come back down. My hands shake as I wrap my fingers around the steering wheel. Through the window, I can see his dark figure swaggering up the driveway to his McMansion.
Looking completely unaffected, I might add.
Fucking prick.
Here I sit barely able to contain my rage, and he’s all calm and polite. And I hate it. I feel like a fool, and I especially hate that.
I hit the gas and peel out of the driveway, sneaking one final peek before I turn out on the road, and I swear his shoulders droop, his head tips forward. I’m not sure he meant for me to see that change in body language. Or the smirk slipping off his face.
But I did.
On the way home, my mind keeps wandering back to the sight of Stefan walking up the sloped driveway, the way his proud shoulders fell. The way he stiffened beside me when I said we couldn’t go back to my place. The way he asked if he embarrassed me.
The ranch’s circle driveway comes into view, and then it hits me.
I hurt him.
So, he went on the defensive. And in his attempt to protect himself, he pissed me off, too. All because we’re both treading so damn carefully around each other, trying to keep thingsfakewhen they clearly aren’t anymore.
For two smart people, we sure can be stupid.
Hesure can be stupid. Too polite. Too patient. Too fucking perfect. It’s annoying.
I take one loop around the driveway at the ranch and drive right back out into the dark. The back roads between Cascade Acres and Gold Rush Ranch aren’t well lit, but I’ve been driving them so much over the last month that I feel like I could probably do it with my eyes closed. I speed. My lead foot presses against the gas like my heart thunders against my ribs as I pass through his front gates. This time, I drive right past his barn and straight up to his house. I jump out and pound my fist on his stately front door. It’s cold now, but my adrenaline is pumping so hard I don’t feel it.
The door doesn’t open fast enough, so I bang on it again. I’m about to slam my palm down on it impatiently when all I’m met with is air. The door swings open, and Stefan stands there, brows knit together with a frown on his lips. He’s so fucking hot I almost can’t handle it. His cheeks are flushed, and his shirt is untucked. I almost just straight up maul him—but first I have some things I need to get off my chest.
His mouth opens to say something, but I cut him off. “You know what? Fuck you.” His brows shoot up, and he rears back. “That date was not fake, and we both know it. So, fuck you for saying that.”
I’m worked up, and my chest rises and falls heavily. “And also fuck you for walking away like a perfect gentleman. Weeks of blatant sexual promises, and you walk away? You should have bent me over the hood of my truck and fucked me on the spot.” I watch his bright green eyes go dark. “Stop treating me like you’ll break me. If I wanted someone to court me and bore me to death, I wouldn’t be wasting all my free time with you.” I stomp my heel-clad foot, and feel completely juvenile as I demand, “Stop dicking around and show me what you’ve been promising.”
His eyes roam the full length of my body, licking over me like a flame. And he definitely doesn’t look confused now. He looks like he might incinerate me on the spot.
Stefan crosses his arms over his chest. “Is that your idea of begging, Dr. Thorne? Why would I sign up to be your dirty little secret?”
My tongue darts out over my lips. “You won’t be.”
His head quirks. “Doesn’t seem that way to me. I thought I wasn’t your type,” he spits out, betraying his otherwise unaffected persona.
“Okay. You’re mad.”
His gaze flits between my eyes and my mouth. “I’m not mad. I’m… too invested.”
The words hit me like a battering ram to the chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” His head shakes. “It’s unnecessary.”
