Liam is standing next to me.
Same green eyes and dark hair hidden beneath a cap. Facial hair I wouldn’t mind feeling between my…
I swallow. “Hey. What are you…”
“Drive with me to Montana.”
Five words.
Five words that are the kindest gesture from a man I never pegged for sweet and thoughtful. Maybe because I didn’t want to see this side of him. Because thinking of Liam Storm as a shallow player has made it far easier for me to keep him at arm’s length.
“I thought you wanted the time to think. Or relax. Alone.”
“I did,” he says. “But plans change all the time. Right?”
That’s for damn sure.
“I’ll split everything with you fifty-fifty,” I promise. “Gas, food, accommodations…”
“Haley.” A smile plays around his lips. “I’m not worried about you taking advantage of my wallet.”
“I know,” I say. “But I want to contribute.”
“You will,” he assures me. “First things first, contribute by helping me find the right exit. My car is valeted.”
“I’m great with directions,” I say. “Follow me.”
I’m as good as my word, and we snake our way through the long-ass, winding corridors and down the elevator to the pick-up area.
Twenty minutes later, we’re in Liam’s truck and headed west.
Northwest to be more precise.
Liam and I ride in silence for over five minutes, during which I sneak a peek at him while trying to make it look like I’m not.
His profile highlights his strong jaw and long, dark eyelashes as he weaves through the airport traffic and into the city. Even I have to admit he’s insanely handsome. His large hands rest casually on the steering wheel, and his broad shoulders are certainly intimidating, but I feel completely safe.
“You’re staring,” he says abruptly.
I feel my face flush with heat, and I whip my head to look out my side window.
I hear him chuckle.
“Are you having second thoughts about driving across the country with a near-stranger?”
“You’re not a stranger,” I say. “We’re practically related.”
I nearly slap my own forehead.
“Related?” His voice rises in surprise. “How’s that work?”
“My bestie is marrying your brother, remember?”
“You and Emerson are related?”
“Not by blood. But she feels more like my sister than my own does sometimes.” I wish I hadn’t given away a card in my hand five minutes into our drive.
We’re going to be alone together in a truck for over two thousand miles, so I assumed somewhere along the way, I’d crack and share pieces of my life. But I didn’t plan to do so while we were still navigating our way out of New Orleans.
