His shoulders are broad, and even with the limp, he’s damn sexy. His T-shirt has dried and hangs loose around his narrow waist, his firm butt cheeks shaping his worn jeans. Flicking my eyes to the floor, I look around to see if anyone caught me looking at his ass, but no one is paying any attention.
Before I leave, I go to his table to clean up, and in the middle is a hundred-dollar bill. I look over my shoulder at the large, muscular body walking out the door. Why is he leaving me such large tips? Either he’s being overly generous or, and this thought makes my heart sink and pisses me off at the same time, he’s just warming me up to get me in bed. If I didn’t need the money so bad, I would listen to the part of me that wants to pretend I don’t and leave it on the table.
In the break room, I untie my apron and toss it in the dirty linen basket before grabbing my purse from my locker in the short row of lockers on one wall. The rain is blowing against the window, and I huff a breath - I don’t have an umbrella. The bed-and-breakfast is only a five-minute walk, but I’ll for sure be soaked by the time I get there. With a groan, I walk to the front.
Tucker’s increasingly familiar figure is standing outside the front door, under the black awning. He’s leaning against the brick next to the window with his thumbs hooked in his pockets. As I step out of the pub, he turns to me, his eyes locking on mine. He tips his head toward his large black truck. “I’ll give you a ride.”
It’s not a request. For a couple of seconds, I’m stunned and not sure what to think. Did he leave when he saw me getting ready to go so he could offer me a ride?
He’s waiting for me out here.
A flutter of hope stirs in my stomach, which slightly irritates me, but I tamp down the feeling again with a silent curse. Reminding myself I’m leaving as soon as my car is fixed and I can pay for the repairs, the last thing I need is to get all giddy and happy like a schoolgirl over a guy who, most likely, is just wanting a piece of ass.
I’m not that girl.
That doesn’t mean I won’t accept an offer to not walk in the pouring rain.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Thank you.”
He only nods as he moves to the passenger door of his truck to open it. The limp is slowing him down, but he doesn’t seem to care that he’s getting soaked. When the door is open, I dart out into the deluge and step up onto the sideboard to climb into the passenger seat.
As I watch him slowly move around the front of the truck, I remember Kinley saying he was going to physical therapy today, and I wonder if he is in pain right now.
The door swings open, and he steps onto the sideboard with his left foot and keeps his weight off his right leg as he sits in his seat. He’s dripping wet, and even though he would have gotten wet whether he was giving me a ride or not, I feel guilty that he got even wetter by opening the door for me.
“You still at Allison’s place?” He asks when he starts his truck and turns the heater to full blast. I can feel the rumble under my feet when it comes to life. Water is dripping off the bill of his hat onto his lap.
Clearing my throat, I nod as I look at his profile. “Yes.”
He hasn’t looked at me since I stepped out the front door of the pub. It feels like he’s avoiding looking at me as he puts the truck in reverse and pulls out onto the main street. He’s such an enigma, warmth wrapped in a sheet of ice.
It only takes a minute for him to reach the driveway of the B&B, and as he puts it in park, he moves to turn it off, but I stop him. “No, you don’t have to get out to open the door. No use in getting in the rain for that, I’ll do it.”
The exchange feels awkward because he doesn’t look at me when he nods his head again, and I wonder if he can’t wait to be rid of me. He can’t be too much of an asshole if he gave me a ride knowing I would have to walk in the rain otherwise. Right?
But why did he give me a ride after treating me like a bother the last two times I’ve been around him?
I’ve always had a nervous habit of blurting out my thoughts, so I pause with my hand on the door handle. “I thought you didn’t like me.”
He turns his head and looks out the driver’s side window. Silence stretches out for so long that I don’t think he is going to respond, so I look away and pull the door handle.
“You thought wrong.” His deep voice fills the cab, and my head swings in his direction as my hand freezes on the handle.
We only hold eye contact for a moment before he looks away and sets his hand on the gear shift, his usual stoic expression on his face. Reeling a little from the shock of his confession, I get out to run through the rain into the inn.
12
TUCKER
TWO DAYS.
Two fucking days.
I’ve thought about her soft skin in my hand, her round ass in that miniskirt, and the look in her eyes when she said she thought I didn’t like her. The confusion I saw on her face pissed me off.
Felix, my niece Lainey Rai’s horse, nips the collar of my shirt as I pass the broom in front of his stall and then huffs in my ear. Trying not to encourage him, I pull my shoulder up to move his nose away from my neck. He’s one of the most playful horses we have, but I don’t feel like playing right now.
I’ve had to stop myself from pushing the broom hard and fast like my irritatingly racing thoughts; otherwise, I’m just going to fill the air with dust, and I’ll be sneezing the rest of the day.
