Before long, though, Sawyer breaks the silence.
She sniffs, then, sheepishly, she says, “It sort of smells like sex in here.”
I stifle a laugh. I’ve been so focused on driving in these conditions I hadn’t noticed. But now that she pointed it out, I smell it, too. The air in the cab has a musty, heady scent.
Naturally, that sends my mind back to last night, to all the moans, whimpers, and heavy breathing I endured from the front seat.
“Do you remember being in the truck last night, honey?”
Mercer gave me the rundown on MDMA this morning, and with each fact he shared, my ire rose. It’s not judgment. A person’s conscious choice to do drugs or to use recreational drugs to let loose and blow off steam is their prerogative. Hell, after a long day of work, there’s nothing I love more than sittingaround the bonfire, drinking a few beers, and taking a few pulls from Mercer’s joint.
My issue is with the why.
Why did she do that last night? Why did she take the “sex drug” as Mercer so succinctly put it? Sawyer is brilliant. She knew what that drug would do to her—how it’d make her feel.
“I have vague recollections,” she admits, playing with the cuffs of the winter coat I bundled her up in before leaving the house. “A lot of the details are blurry. It started with Tytus. Mercer was there, too.” She peers over at me, head still lowered. “I’m almost certain you weren’t in the back seat with us.”
Grimly, I nod. “I was not. I heard plenty from the front seat,” I grouse. It was excruciating listening to Tytus and Mercer drive her higher and higher while I sat in the front seat by myself. “I stayed up here and kept an eye out since we were parked in the driveway of that house party.”
Sawyer groans, head hanging. “I should probably be more mortified…”
I take the bait.
“But?”
She draws it out, slowly lifting her head and turning to face me.
“I got Tytus and Mercer to cooperate for once, didn’t I?”
I snicker. Yeah, as reluctant and animosity-fueled as it was, it was still teamwork.
“Clever girl,” I praise, easing into the curve ahead of the train tracks.
Rather than slow the way it should, the truck keeps moving, and suddenly I don’t have any control. When we slide sideways, my body locks up, my hands gripping the wheel tight.
“Brace yourself.” I throw one arm out to keep Sawyer from flying forward with the momentum of the vehicle while trying to keep myself from jolting too much either.
With any luck, the enormous snowbank on the right will soften the blow. I just pray it’s all snow and actually a safe place to land.
When the truck jerks to a relatively soft stop, I open my eyes and look to Sawyer first—she’s wide-eyed and breathing heavy, but she appears to be okay.
Without the crunch of metal or any immediate sign of damage to the vehicle, I ascertain quickly that we’re okay.
“We’re all right,” I say out loud, as much for my own reassurance as for hers.
On a shaky, broken whisper, Sawyer asks, “Can I unbuckle now?”
In reply, I undo her seat belt myself.
As soon as it clicks, she scrambles over the center console and clumsily climbs into my lap.
I move the seat back, making space so I can really hold her. Then I pull her in tight. “We’re all right, honey,” I murmur. I take her face in my hands, cupping her cheeks so I can look her in the eye and make sure she’s okay.
She’s the most precious thing in my life.
God, I love this woman.
She blinks, tears gathering in her eyes and soaking the lower lashes.
