They could do lots of things, but letting himself entertain them wasn’t something he did. He angled them across the street rather than down the sidewalk. “I left Ralph on the back porch because like a stubborn ass he pointblank refused to come inside. Gotta install him a dog door.”
A noncommittal sound served as her reply, followed by a quiet sigh. Maybe that was commiseration, except Polo was the most agreeable canine he’d ever seen. He unlocked the truck and reached to open the passenger door. “Hey, this was a great idea. I really appreciate–”
Warm hands framed his jaw, surprising the hell out of him, and she took a step into him. In the hushed glow of the streetlights surrounding the courthouse, he caught a glimpse ofdetermination in the bluest eyes he’d ever seen before she flexed her hold and pulled his mouth down to hers.
Chapter Three
For a moment, his lips pressed against hers, warm and dry, and the sharp scent of his aftershave filled her nose. A shudder worked through his body, and he froze before he took a step back, colliding with the open truck door. “What the hell was that?”
Holly smothered a sigh. Like she hadn’t anticipated him –his– being difficult. When it came to Calvert men, Tick was easy, while Colton defined complex. Refusing to prevaricate, she jumped in. “It’s not uncommon for an evening out to end with a kiss.”
His shoulders firmed into an impenetrable wall. “We’re not that kind of friends.”
She arched a brow. “Maybe we should be.”
“You cannot just grab me and do that.” He shook his head, neat dark hair gleaming under the streetlights. And that perfectly pressed shirt, the pale blue cotton fresh and crisp. She really wanted to muss him up a little. “If the situation were reversed–”
“Fine, let’s handle the consent issue.” Lifting her chin, she held that dark gaze. “May I kiss you, Colton?”
His jaw tightened, a nerve flicking in his cheek. He jerked a hand toward the cab. “Get in the truck.”
She snorted so hard her nose stung.
“Holly, so help me.” He stabbed a finger toward the driver’s seat. “I will get behind that wheel and send a Lyft for you.”
He would, too. One thing she knew about Calvert men – they said what they meant and meant what they said. A tendril of excitement unfurled. She knew exactly how far she could push Lamar. He was her friend, as dear as Lorraine, and she poked at him, like flicking Oscar’s tail in the office. She’d get a reactionout of Tick, like Oscar would roll over for a tummy rub, precisely three circles before his sharp little claws came out. Tick was nothing if not straightforward when it came to reading him.
Colton was all layers of meaning, line shifts and enjambments, so the point of no return wasn’t as sharply defined. She wasn’t convinced finding that point and going past it wouldn’t be as satisfying as the final couplet of a Wilfred Owen poem.
“Coffee shop, Colt.” She snapped her fingers and sensed the wave of fury that rolled over him, the concussion after a detonation. “Now.”
He clenched the truck roof so hard his knuckles whitened. “We just had dinner.”
“Well, now we’re going to have coffee.” Spinning, she barely remembered to check for traffic before sauntering across the street, boots clicking a sharp tattoo. Silence hung behind her, but she refused to glance over her shoulder.
Surely he’d follow her.
Surely.
She’d die if he didn’t.
The truck door slammed, and boots scraped on the asphalt in a frustrated rhythm, growing closer behind her. With an effort, she kept her shoulders straight, fending off an urge to sag with relief. A small, secret smile curved her lips.
“This is crazy.” He flung the snarl over his shoulder, long strides taking him past her so he could open the door for her. One arm braced along the edge, he waited, long and lean and vibrating.
That frisson of excitement sparked through her all over again.
Telling him to calm down would be counterproductive. As she stepped by him, she brushed her bangs to one side. He followed, close enough she caught another whiff of his aftershave, spiked with the unique warmth of his body. That was a little exciting, too, a grown-up version of those early days spent being his analysis partner in AP Lit, when they’d sat close together, arguing over context and meaning. The warmth of him, that deep voice . . . she’d definitely envied Marissa Lanier her place as his girlfriend. Jada Prescott had come after that, their senior year, and they’d lasted until after graduation.
Then there’d been some girl at ABAC, some soft little redhead, who’d broken up with him right before that weekend he’d messed up so badly with Allison Barnett.
Thatweekend had broken his heart, and he hadn’t been the same.
By then, well, she’d been over that junior-year crush. Somewhere along the way, she’d given her heart to Scott, for years now even though another weekend had broken hers, even though each year had torn it a little more and she’d never found enough breathing space to tape it back together.
But all that was then.
“What do you want?” His posture remained tall and taut, jaw tight, but his voice rang even and quiet.
