"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry I called you, I just… I didn't know who else… Colt was probably drunk and I couldn't—"
"Hey." Boone's hand finds mine again, threads our fingers together. "Don't apologize. Not for this. Not ever."
"You were probably in the middle of something and I—"
"Nicole." He squeezes my hand. "Look at me."
I turn to face him. His profile is carved from stone in the darkness, illuminated only by the dashboard lights and the occasional streetlamp.
"I will always come when you call," he says. "Always. No matter what I'm doing. No matter what time it is. You hear me?"
My throat closes up. "Boone—"
"You did exactly the right thing calling me. And I'm glad you did." His jaw clenches again. "If you hadn't... if he'd managed to break down that door..."
He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't have to.
"Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you for coming. Thank you for—" I gesture vaguely. "All of it."
"Don't thank me for basic human decency."
"It's not basic. Not everyone would have done what you did."
"Then not everyone deserves to call themselves a man."
We fall quiet again. Boone keeps driving, keeps holding my hand, keeps being exactly what I need without me having to ask.
This is why I love him. Not because he's gorgeous, though he is, God help me. Not because he's strong or capable or protective, though he's all of those things too.
I love him because when I needed help, he came. No questions. No judgment. Just immediate, absolute action.
I love him because he's the kind of man who will drive too fast and punch out assholes and still call me "sweetheart" with a gentleness that makes my heart ache.
I love him because he's Boone, and I've never stood a chance against that.
Not that it matters. Tonight doesn't change anything. He saved me because that's what he does. He saves people. It doesn't mean he sees me as anything more than Colt's friend who got herself in trouble.
But for right now, driving through the dark with his hand in mine, I can pretend it means something more.
I can pretend I matter to him the way he matters to me.
Just for tonight.
Chapter 2 - Boone
I should not be noticing the way her tits rise and fall with each shaky breath.
I should not be noticing how her jeans hug every single curve of her ass, or how that tight little tank top leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I should not be thinking about any of this while she's sitting next to me, traumatized and scared, still shaking from what that piece of shit tried to do to her.
But I'm noticing. God help me, I'm noticing all of it.
The shame burns hot in my gut, mixing with the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. What kind of fucking monster looks at a woman who just escaped a fucking asshole and thinks about how goddamn perfect her body is?
Me, apparently.
I'm that monster.
