“Nora,” he starts with a sigh, “get the fuck in your car and drive home, so I can follow you. It’s been a long day.”
“Okay!” I exclaim too loudly, secretly happy with the prospect of him following me home. My brain understands that situation with Dick was a one-time deal (hopefully), but my emotions are still all over the place.
Starting the car, I wait for him to get to his truck. I’m not ashamed to admit I follow his movement in the side mirror, and my gaze keeps dropping to his tight ass in those worn-out jeans. I’ve never been an ass person, but I’m being converted as I speak.
17
Jericho
A squeaking sound under my hands makes me take a deep breath and relax my muscles before I break my steering wheel.
When I saw that motherfucker’s hands on Nora, something wild woke up in me, and I went right back to that place I can’t seem to escape. She looked so fucking small next to him, so vulnerable, that all I wanted to do was smash my fist into his face. Repeatedly.
I was driving home from the meeting with the lumberman which ran a little later than I expected, when something pulled me toward the diner. Maybe it was a desire to check on her since she seemed so rattled before. I have no damn idea.
Rounding the corner and seeing her casually walking toward her car almost made me turn back. Almost. Then I noticed a figure next to her Toyota—someone was leaning on its driver’s side, and this is where I knew that my instincts brought me here.
The asshole scared her. I saw that. She was frozen. Always snarky Nora was frozen in place, unable to move. That woke another desire—to wipe the asphalt with his face. And I would have if she didn’t stop me.
Another squeak makes me take another breath. Damn predator. Preying on someone physically smaller. I hate this type of person, always have. I wish I’d delivered at least one punch. Just one good punch, and I wouldn’t be feeling this anger burning my insides to ash.
Seeing her taillights makes my heart rhythm somewhat steady. I sometimes imagine one of the women from my family in a situation when they’re overpowered by someone bigger, and it makes me see red. But witnessing it actually happening to Nora did something odd to my brain. It altered the way I see her now. Before this evening, she was my annoying but admittedly slightly entertaining neighbor, and now she’s someone I feel responsible for. Connected. Something I didn’t want nor need.
When we turn down our street, I half expect the dickhead to be waiting for her there. Iwishfor it.
But he’s not.
Nora parks in her driveway, and I pull into mine. She hesitates to leave her Toyota, so I speed walk over to her and pull her door open. Not to be a fuckin’ gentleman, but to offer support. She smiles without saying a word and steps out.
We walk to her house in complete silence. Even though I want to ask questions. Many questions.
“Do you want to stay for some cocoa?” Her voice is small, almost fragile. It doesn’t suit her, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be around her in my current state of mind. I’m too amped up. Too rough around the edges, and I might say something I’ll regret.
“I don’t think it’s a?—”
“Can you please stay for some cocoa?” It’s even smaller now, practically a whisper, and I bite my tongue. There’s avulnerability there I haven’t seen before. It’s messing with me, making things complicated. I thought I had her all figured out—independent, self-sufficient, wanting nothing from anyone—but now she’s asking me to stay. She’s reaching out, and I don’t understand why.
Or maybe I do, and that scares the shit out of me. Nodding my agreement, I place my ass on her porch steps.
“I’ll be right back.”
As she disappears inside the house, I take a deep breath and let the evening air calm me down. It doesn’t feel real, what just happened. I didn’t expect to find myself here, sitting on her steps, waiting like a dog who’s just grateful it got some attention. I run a hand through my hair, trying to piece it all together. There’s too much going on inside me, too much I can’t explain. What I do know is that I’m not used to this. Someone asking me to stay. It’s unsettling, and I hate not being in control.
But here I am. Staying. Waiting. Like some damn teenager hoping to get one more moment with a girl he can’t stop thinking about.
A few minutes later, she comes out. The door creaks as she opens it, and I glance over to see her holding two steaming mismatched mugs, both of them looking like they’re seconds from spilling over. She’s still wearing her jacket, buttoned up to her chin in a way that makes her look even smaller. Weaker. A reminder of how fragile things can be. She passes both mugs to me. It’s a little awkward, but I manage to take them without spilling anything on myself.
“Can you hold it for a second?”
She disappears inside and comes back carrying two giant, fluffy throw blankets. Dropping one on the steps, she stands behind me—something I fuckin’ hate but can’t tell her—and wraps one of the blankets around my shoulders. All disdain and momentary aggravation are gone in an instant. She pulls one side of the blanket and buries my neck in it, and the otherside she secures around my shoulders and throws it to my front while I’m holding both mugs without breathing.
“Here you go.” She sits next to me and pulls the other blanket over her shoulders. “It’s cold here.”
It is. I pass her one of the mugs, remembering that I’m still not wearing a jacket, so her blanket is a very sound idea. Especially when it smells so good. Like cinnamon, vanilla, and something spicy. Something almost exotic but very familiar.
“Thank you,” she says quietly after a few minutes pass in silence, the calm broken only by the sound of a distant train whistle. Her voice is as soft as the blanket around her shoulders, and I’m trying really hard to not care about the gratitude in it.
Her words hang between us in the chilly night air like lingering foggy mist, and I don’t like it at all.
