He wore a faded navy T-shirt. His hair was damp and the curls were already starting to stand off his head. Jaw shadowed, he looked large and solid, and Hope felt the desperate need to climb into his lap and let him hold her. She felt heat fill her cheeks at the memory of that night he’d kissed her breasts.
“You’re different here.” Hope latched on to anything to change the subject from her, and her thoughts, and what he’d just learned about her.
“How am I different?”
“Almost like another person. You dress in worn clothes and don’t brush your hair. Less corporate raider, more casual bum.”
He smiled. “I still have style, sweetheart. That’s where you and I differ.”
“I have style!” Hope snapped.
“Sure you do, and when you’re finished with that shirt, my mother can make it into a cushion cover.”
Normally she didn’t care about him teasing; in fact she loved their verbal sparring, because it fired her up. But right at that moment, she felt raw, exposed, and confused. Everything she’d fought for had been taken from her, and she didn’t know how to get it back. Talking about it with Buster had made her realize what she’d lost.
“Hope, are you okay?”
She felt her body start to shake, and then… hell, she was about to cry. Gulping down a breath, she looked at the cup she had clenched in her hands.
“Hope?” He reached for her, his hands cupping hers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“No!” She pulled her hands free, still not looking at him. Getting to her feet so quickly the chair turned over, she mumbled something about having to go, and ran out of the Hoot, leaving her laptop and things on the table.
“Hope!”
She didn’t stop as Newman called to her, but kept running. She dodged people and ended up running down the street. She wouldn’t let them see her weak. Didn’t want the sympathy. What she needed right now was solitude to do something that had been building inside her for weeks. Cry.
Dashing behind the shops, she ran to the trail and into the redwoods. Once there she hurried along the hard-packed path, then cut left into the trees. Only when she had put enough distance between her and the town of Howling did she stop. Chest heaving, she went to the nearest tree, wrapped her arms as far as she could around it, and held on.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Youdon’t have to come down on her all the time because she’s not into fashion, bud.”
“What?” Newman was on his feet about to follow Hope when Buster’s words stopped him.
“Sure, I get that it’s like some weird form of communication for you two, and you’ve been doing it for years. But the thing is, Newman, sometimes, like now, it actually hurts her. Especially considering you’re the male fashion icon.”
“How do you know I hurt her sometimes?” Newman looked at the man who knew him better than he knew himself.
“It’s in the way she hunches her shoulders, and if you get close enough and really look, you can see it in her eyes.”
“You’re going soft,” Newman muttered. “And I’m not a male fashion icon.”
“Not to me you aren’t, ’cause I have my own style.”
Newman scoffed loudly.
“But let’s face it, bud, even your socks match your shirts. Plus, there’s that thing you have going on where everything you put on looks designer.”
“I’m sure that’s an insult.”
“No, just a fact. You could throw on one of Jake’s grease rags and look good. Now go and find her and apologize. She’s got shit going on, and we have to help her fix it.”
“We do?”
“That’s what we do, remember? Look out for each other.”
Newman shook his head and made for the door. “You’re just plain weird, Griffin, but I get your point.”
