I slide off the rocker sitting next to the door on Waylon’s porch as soon as I hear the crunch of Cabe’s tires coming down the gravel road. My dress is wrinkled, my hair is a knotty mess, and I reek of sex and mortification as I do the walk of shame to the end of the drive.
I don’t even get the luxury of pretending I was drunk and stupid.
I was stone-cold sober.
Cabe’s truck slows and stops at the curb, and I climb in. He’s leaning against the steering wheel, arms folded, mouth tipped into a grin that says he has no intention of being mature about this.
“Oh, shut up,” I tell him as I slam the door a little harder than necessary even though he hasn’t said a single word.
That just makes him laugh out loud, a full, warm, obnoxious laugh that causes me to growl under my breath.
“Morning to you too, Shell,” he says, still grinning as he throws the truck in gear.
“So,” he says, dragging the word out, “rough night?”
I glare at him. “If you say one more word, I will open this door and roll into the street.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he protests innocently.
The drive from Waylon’s cabin to Wildhaven Storm is short, but it feels like it takes forever. I stare out the window at the familiar sweep of pastures, the early morning light turning the fields gold, trying not to think about the way Waylon’s handsfelt on my body last night or the way he kissed me like it was so natural this morning.
I fail spectacularly.
Cabe keeps glancing over at me like he’s waiting for me to snap.
Finally, I do. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says way too cheerfully. “Just nice to see you … having some fun.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too.”
When we pull up in front of the house, I don’t get out right away. The big old farmhouse looms in front of me, full of sisters who will absolutely rip me to shreds.
Cabe kills the engine and looks over. “You goin’ in?”
I make a face. “I’m bracing myself for the third degree.”
He frowns. “From who?”
“Matty, Charli, and Harleigh. Obviously.” I tug at the hem of my dress, which is doing me no favors. “They’re going to take one look at me and know.”
Cabe snorts. “They already left.”
I blink. “What?”
“Yeah. They said something about brunch. French toast. Mimosas.” He shrugs. “Sounded real important.”
“Oh crap,” I groan. “Our brunch plans.”
I completely forgot. Of course I did. Because, apparently, my brain completely shut down somewhere between the fairgrounds and Waylon’s bedroom.
Relief and panic crash into each other in my mind. On one hand, thank God. At least I’ll have a chance to shower and change before I face them. On the other, that means I have no buffer. Just me and Grandma, if she’s home, and I am not emotionally prepared for Evelyn Storm to look at me with those sharp, knowing eyes right now.
I shove the door open. “I’m going. If Grandma asks, I’m dead.”
“She’s at church,” Cabe calls after me.
