“Then let’s go.” He doesn’t wait for me, turns and stalks toward the door. I have to practically jog to keep up with his long strides.
“Have fun!” Seth calls after us.
“Make good choices!” Liam adds, and I could swear he’s laughing.
“Good luck!” Seth adds, then quieter, almost to himself, “You’re both gonna need it.”
The door swings shut behind us, cutting off whatever Nate was about to shout back.
“So,” I say, still catching up. “Where are we going?”
Silence. He unlocks his truck—a dark blue F-150 that looks like it’s never seen a speck of dirt—and opens the passenger door.
“Get in,” he says.
“That’s not very romantic.”
“You wanted a date. This is a date.” He gestures at the open door. “Get in.”
I get in.
The truck cab is a mistake.
His scent is everywhere—pine and woodsmoke soaked into the seats, the steering wheel, the air itself. Concentrated. Inescapable. It hits me like a wall, and my whole body responds before I can stop it. Heat flooding my core. Slick threatening to gather. Every instinct I have screamingalpha, alpha, ourswhile my brain reminds me that he’s currently treating me like an inconvenience he can’t wait to be rid of.
I press my thighs together and fix my eyes on the dashboard. Breathe through my mouth. It doesn’t help. I can taste him on my tongue.
Nate climbs in the driver’s side, and the cab shrinks. He’s bigger than I remember. Broader through the shoulders, thicker through the arms. The lanky teenager I knew has filled out into a man—solid and immovable.
He starts the engine without looking at me.
We pull out of the lot. The silence is suffocating—the heat of him radiating across the console, neither of us saying a word.
I sneak a glance at him. Sharp profile. Dark hair shorter than it used to be. Hands gripping the steering wheel like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if he lets go.
My eyes trace down his forearms. The way his uniform stretches across his shoulders. I remember what those shoulders looked like bare, what his hands felt like on my?—
Stop it. He won’t even look at you.
“Where are we going?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
Nothing. He doesn’t even glance at me.
“Nate. Where are we going?”
“Out.” Flat. Giving nothing.
“Out where?”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. “Does it matter?”
“I’d like to know if you’re planning to dump my body in the woods.”
The joke lands flat. He doesn’t crack a smile. Doesn’t respond at all.
Fine. I can do silence too.
The road curves upward, trees thickening on either side. Snow clings to the branches, turning everything white and silent. I recognize this route—it leads to a lookout point above town, a place we used to go in high school when we wanted to escape everything.
