“It’s in my truck.”
I look up into his eyes. “My purse? I left my purse in your truck?”
He nods. “You did. I didn’t see it until I got home last night.” Holding his hand out, I stare down at my phone.
“Why do you have my phone?” I don’t use a passcode on that thing, so any text message on there are open season to anyone who has my phone. I feel my face heat to a million degrees. What if Rose messaged me in the night? No doubt it’d be all about Nash. Crap on a cracker. I suddenly feel like this is a bad idea. “You don’t have to take me. I’m inconveniencing you. Let me just grab my purse, and I’ll get Dad to take me.”
“No. I’m here now. Let’s just go get your car.”
“Fine.” I don’t know why he’s doing this. “Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?”
“What?” He looks affronted. “I’m always nice to you.”
Snort. I can’t help it. It just comes out. “Two days ago, you accused me of trying to infiltrate your house by cleaning it.”
“Not my house. My bed,” he grumbles.
Mumbling to myself, I say, “You’re the one that wanted to bedme.”
He doesn’t reply, so I assume he didn’t hear me, which is good. At his truck, he opens the door, and I grab hold of the inside door handle to pull myself up. But then I feel hands on my waist and breath on my ear. “I still do.”
He heard me. A shiver runs up my entire body at his words. With bravery I didn’t know I have, I turn my head until our lips are millimeters apart. “But only once, right?”
There’s silence between us. He’s looking at my mouth. Then those intense olive-green eyes of his meet mine. “Sure,” he says softly, “once.”
Pulling myself up the rest of the way, I slide into the passenger seat and reach for the door. Looking down at the most handsome man that ever lived, I say, “Asked and answered. I don’t do one-night stands.” Pulling the door toward me, I add, “Not even with you, Nash.”
15
Nash
If you’d toldme a week or two ago that Isabelle Harmon was a strong, independent woman, I’d have laughed in your face. The Isabelle IthoughtI knew was demure and quiet. I couldn’t have been more wrong, and I’m not sure what to do with that new knowledge, especially since this new Isabelle is turning me on. Her confidence is sexy as fuck, and the fact that she’s not taking any of my usual bullshit, well, let’s just say, it’s refreshing.
The ride back to town is quiet. I suspect Isabelle is still pretty tired from the night before. I don’t think she’s used to getting drunk at the town bar, and that’s a good thing. Also, she’s been texting someone on her phone for the last five minutes. “Um, Nash?” she asks softly. There’s uncertainty in her voice.
“Yeah?”
“Do I have a date with Max tonight?”
“The fuck?” I say too loudly. “No.”
“Are you sure?” She’s still clutching her phone.
“Is Max texting you?”
Isabelle shakes her head. “Rose. She said he asked me out.”
I release a breath of air out of my lungs as I think of the right way to answer this. “He did ask you out, but you shot him down.”
“I did?”
I look over at her, and my heart sort of hurts. “Why? Do you want to go out with him?”
“No.” She looks to her right, out the window. “Probably not.”
God, I’m an asshole. Why shouldn’t she go out with Max? I’m certainly not available to her emotionally. She deserves better. So, I say, “You should go.”
Her head whips around, her eyes round. “Seriously?”
