“I—”
“Now.” He releases my wrist like it’s burning him, taking a sharp step back, and I can see the war on his face. The way his nostrils flare. The way his hands are clenched at his sides. “Please.”
The please is what breaks me.
I go.
I practically throw his truck keys at him and I’m out the door before I can even process what just happened. The January air hits my flushed face like a slap, sharp enough to make my eyes water. I fumble with my car door, fingers clumsy from cold and adrenaline and whatever the hell that was.
I don’t look back. I can’t look back. If I look back and see him standing there, I’ll do something I can’t take back.
The drive home is a blur. My hands are shaking on the steering wheel, and I’m still wearing his jacket, still wrapped in his scent, still feeling the ghost of his thumb against my pulse. The heater blasts but I can’t get warm. Every inhale brings more of him—leather, musk, that hint of motor oil that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is.
I slicked. In his garage. Because helookedat me.
I need more suppressants. I need a cold shower. I need to never see Ben Wilson again.
I pull into my parking spot and sit there, engine off, staring at nothing.
Eight bachelors. I needed eight bachelors. I have seven.
And Ben Wilson said no.
Because I don’t bid.
What the hell does that even mean?
I press my forehead to the steering wheel and groan. The jacket shifts around my shoulders, and I get another wave of his scent, and my body responds all over again despite the fact that he’s not even here.
His jacket. I’m still wearing his jacket.
Which means I now have his jacket AND his flannel, which is still folded on my couch where I definitely didn’t sleep with it last night.
I’m collecting Ben Wilson’s clothes like some kind of deranged scent hoarder.
“This is a disaster,” I whisper to no one.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, half expecting it to be Ben with some sarcastic follow-up, but it’s Milo.
Got confirmations from Lucas and Sam. Jake and Asher are in too. You’re welcome ;)
Four bachelors. Milo got me four.
I stare at the phone, then type back:You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.
Anything for you, Tessa. Still need that last one?
I think about Ben’s face when he asked if I was going to bid on Milo. The way he closed off the second I said no.
Working on it,I reply.
Then I go inside, take the coldest shower of my life, and call my doctor about increasing my suppressant dosage.
Because whatever just happened in that garage cannot happen again.
It absolutely, definitely, under no circumstances can happen again.
No matter how much I want it to.
