“Appears so,” he said. “Still need a ride home?”
She nodded, feeling suddenly shy. They’d agreed that morning that she’d grab a Lyft to the bar so he could drive her home to keep up appearances. But that practical decision suddenly felt fraught with danger under the glow of the lights scattered throughout the lot.
“Here.” He opened the door and gave her a hand up into the too-tall cab, and his observant thoughtfulness just ratcheted up her self-consciousness even more.
Chin up. Boobs out. Smile on.
Yeah, that mantra wasn’t very useful in the cab of his truck, which smelled like sawdust and varnish and aftershave and was thelastplace she should be thinking about her boobs. When he slid into the driver’s side and fired up the engine, her nerves took over, and her mouth engaged without her brain’s permission.
“I started cleaning up the flower beds in the front yard since I had some time on my hands. Turns out I know remarkably little about plants for the daughter of a landscaper.” Her inane comment only served to make her sad, and when she tried to laugh it off, what emerged was a watery little bleat. To his credit, Aiden immediately reached for her hand, and when their fingers met, the tightness in her chest eased a tiny bit.
“I still remember what your dad taught me about rosebush maintenance.” He rubbed his thumb over the center of her palm. “I can help you do some pruning.”
“That would be great.”
“Guess Idohave more to offer than just sex.” He glanced at her as they idled at a stoplight, but his wry smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Shit. He really had been bothered by those women’s comments. Unexpected protectiveness surged in her chest, and she said fiercely, “Of course you do. I hate how those women talked about you before. I’m sorry I stood there and listened to it.”
His jaw clenched as he accelerated through the intersection. “It’s okay. They’re not the only ones who think that.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighed and gave an exaggerated wave at the dark neighborhood they were cruising past. “Everyone around here feels the same way.”
Something in her chest pinched. “None of them know the first thing about you.”
“Oh, I think they know plenty.”
He fell silent, and after a moment she worked up the nerve to ask the obvious question. “So why then?” He raised his brows in a question, so she clarified. “If it bothers you what they think, why do you sleep around? Why no relationships ever?”
He shifted in his seat and didn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t talk about it much, but a woman broke my heart when I was a sophomore in college. An older woman, very sophisticated. I never got over it, and I guess I’ve been compensating for it ever since.”
She gasped softly and reached for his hand, “Oh my God, that’s—”
“Nah, I’m messing with you.” He shot her another glance, this one full of teasing that banished his mournful tone. “There’s really no big story. Sleeping around was fun in high school and easy in college, and when I graduated and moved back home, it just kind of stuck.” He shrugged as he turned in to Prospect Point. “My parents bugged me about settling down for a few years, and I guess I started going out of my way to prove I wasn’t cut out for it.”
He pulled into her driveway and notched the truck into park, turning to face her. “Sometimes I think I did too good a job of convincing them.”
The downward slant of his lips suggested that this sadness wasn’t faked, but in a flash he blinked it away. All she wanted was to throw her arms around him and banish the loneliness pouring off of him, but that was far, far too dangerous in the quiet of his cab.
Instead, she changed the subject. “Okay, why the drums?” She gestured toward the truck bed, hoping his hobby would lighten the vibe a little bit. But if anything, his expression hardened even more.
“Another little rebellion against my parents’ plan for my life. I took music lessons in college as awhat the hellelective and kind of fell in love. But my dad convinced me it was pointless to keep going when the family business is nails and two-by-fours.” His voice was casual, but restlessness tinged his words. “When Dave put together a cover band a few years ago, I thought, why not? It keeps me busy. Reminds me I’m more than a cog in the Murdoch machine.”
“You’re so much more than a cog.” She let her head fall against the seat back as she studied the man sitting next to her, handsomer than anybody she’d ever dated for real or pretend.
His plain black T-shirt pulled tight across his broad shoulders and solid chest, and his fingers tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel as if he was lost in the thought of making music. Her heart broke that too few people bothered to look past his playboy exterior to see what else he had to offer. Because he hadso much. So much warmth and humor and thoughtfulness.
Danger.
She reached for the door handle and practically flung herself out of the truck and into the crisp chill of early March, throwing the brakes on this whole encounter. “Um, I should really get to bed. Thanks for the ride.”
She didn’t even wait for him to wish her good night, instead slamming the door and almost sprinting to the safety of her house. She’d been about two seconds away from kissing him for real, which would’ve been a catastrophic breach of their agreement. Once the hobbit door was safely shut and locked behind her, she exhaled hard.
Crisis averted. But for how long?
Thirteen
