“I don’t need sh–shit.” I feel like I’m losing my sanity minute by minute.
But I do need shit.
I needyou.
“Come on,” he motions for me to follow him. I can’t move my fucking legs. I’m worried if I try, I’ll fall.
“I c-can’t,” I say, flashing my gaze to the floor. “Just go, Jordan. I’ll be fine.”
Please don’t leave me.
“Why do you have to argue with me all the damn time?” he grumbles, and then he grabs me. One hand slides around my waist and he pulls me against him.
The motion brings me close enough I can smell his spicy alpine and vetiver scent and stupidly I breathe him in like he’s my fucking oxygen. Maybe he is.
“Because I’mdifficult,” I whine.
Mack grunts out, “You ain’t fucking kidding.”
I lean on him and find it’s a little easier to walk, but it still hurts like a bitch.
The cold air hits me as the tears fester. My brain feels muddled, not understanding how to respond.
On one hand, his gravelly, deep commanding voice is scratching my brain the right way, but I also know he’s just being a decent human being.
It has nothing to do withme.He doesn’t want me. He’s got a girlfriend, for God’s sakes. Hell, he doesn’t even want me around, and it’s his job to fix me.
“Where’s my car?” I ask as he settles me against the side of a white truck that’s seen better days.
“We’ll get it in the morning.”
He shifts me, and I lean against the side, noticing his hands on my hips. They don’t move, either, and for a moment we both stand there. I look up at him and everything is confusing.
His lips part just the slightest and his dark eyes fall to my mouth. Time seems to stand still, and without thinking, I lean into his space, my own lips parting in response. He turns away, letting out a shaky breath.
“Get in the fucking car, Alex,” he says, sounding more tired than ever. He throws open the door, then hoists me in like I weigh five pounds. My feet crash against empty cups and cans and the door shuts with a loud thud. A second later, the car sputters and he curses, hitting the steering wheel.
“Fuck, girl, don’t do this to me now,” he whispers.
I laugh. “Performance issues?”He whips his head in my direction, glaring at me. “Don’t recall any. Do you?”
His response is so not him that it throws me off, and I’m speechless.
He mutters something to himself as he turns over the ignition again, but all it does is sputter.
“Do you—”
“Shut the fuck up, Alex,” he growls.
“Make me,” I whisper, but I don’t think he hears it because the engine finally turns over. I let the rumble of the engine lull me into peace as the sounds of Matchbox Twenty’s “Push” fill the air.
I sing, because I love the song, almost forgetting that I’m not alone. Usually I only sing karaoke in my own car, but I let my guard down and my voice elevates as I sing out the chorus. Mack chuckles and I smile.
“Don’t quit your day job, Alex.” There’s humor in his voice among the gravel.
“I love this song,” I say like an idiot.
There’s a pause before he says, “It’s a good song.”
