I suddenly couldn’t remember whathadmade me think that. Standing next to the truck, out of the glare of the lights, he didn’t seem to have any trouble focusing on me. His balance seemed much steadier. His words were well-articulated. I couldn’t smell any alcohol onhim.
Shit.
“I…” I stammered. “It’s common when there’s an accident involving a teendriver.”
“A teen driver?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing. “You cannotpossiblybe talking about me. I’m twenty-nine, youidiot!”
Once more, I was caught on the back foot. Yeah, the guy was maybe five-seven, tops, and lean along with it, but the cut of his jaw made it clear that he was no teenager. Plus, the look in his eyes - bone-weary and enraged simultaneously - wasn’t one I’d ever seen on akid.
Detective work like this would have gotten my ass kicked out of any police force in the world, even that of tiny O’Leary, NewYork.
“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my palm over my chest. I expected to feel the starched cotton and buttons of my uniform, but I didn’t. I glanced down and winced at my casual summer date-wear: shorts, sneakers, and a fittedpolo.
I was driving my own truck, and not a marked car, too. Jesus, no wonder the guy looked scared. Other than my badge, I had nothing identifying me as a policeofficer.
“Christ.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I jumped to conclusions. Iapologize.”
His eyes were green. It was dark as fuck out here, making it almost impossible to differentiate between shades of color, and yet I knew without a doubt that his eyes were an impossible bright green, and would be even in sunlight. They locked on mine with stunningforce.
“Youapologize?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Let me explain something. I have been driving for the past six hours. I was onyourfucking ink-black roads, heading foryourgodforsaken town, to stay with my grandfather, when a ma… moose, or something,” he faltered. “Popped out of the fucking woods and ran at me. I turned my wheel so I wouldn’t hit it, and ended up destroying my car and banging the hell out of my knee. AndthenI’ve had to hike approximately fifty-thousand miles down this roadon that injured fucking knee, with only a half-dead cell phone to light the way, because no one out here believes instreetlights or telephone reception, wondering if the movie of my life is going to look more likeDeliveranceor an episode ofCriminalMinds!”
By the end of his tirade, he was jabbing his finger into my chest and had me arching backward over the hood of my own truck. It wasimpressive.
It washot.
Down boy, I instructed my cock, which must’ve still been on a hair trigger thanks toReggie.
“I, uh, have given you no actual reason to believe this,” I said, straightening up and grabbing the wrist he’d pointed at me. “But I am not actually crazy. It’s been a frustrating night, and I was keyed up, and I don’t like this road, and… well. I really hate caraccidents.”
His pulse raced beneath my fingertips. He looked at me for another second, then nodded. He seemed to shrink back in on himself once the anger had leached out of him, like a deflatedballoon.
I felt a surge of sympathy. God knew, I’d felt that. Still felt it,sometimes.
“I’m Si Sloane,” I said, turning our hand clasp into a handshake.
He took a deep breath. “Everett Maior. Ev.” The words were like a sigh. “Henry Lattimer’s my grandfather.” He pulled his handaway.
“Oh, yeah? You the artist or therunner?”
“Pardon?”
“Before she passed, your grandma used to brag about her two grandsons. I remember one of you went to art school and the other was a trackstar.”
“Oh. I’m the artist, I guess.” He paused. “More orless.”
“Got it. Well, climb in, Ev,” I told him, nodding toward the passenger side. I smiled. “I’ll drive you to mygodforsakentown.”
I could almost swear he blushed as I repeated his words. It was weirdly cute… andGod, it really should not have been. I needed to get laid even worse than I’dthought.
“That’s not necessary,” Ev argued. “If you could justcall…”
“The police?” I suggested. “Done.” I spread my arms to my sides. “There aren’t many of us to choose from around here, and the others are all busy. You’re stuck withme.”
He sighed and lifted a hand to rub his forehead. “A towtruck?”
“Already called. Joe Cross will come and get thecar.”
“Well, then, I’ll just waitfor…”
