I should respond by telling her the truth.No, I can’t find another way home. We’re forty minutes from Sterling Falls. An Uber would be ungodly expensive if I could even get one to drive me a few towns over, not to mention that’s a long stretchof highway late at night with a stranger, and I don’t like the possibility.
Narrowing my eyes, I glance up at Cort, seeing his face pinched and his lips pursed, as he reads his own phone. Slowly, he lifts his gaze to me.
“Seems my brother left.” He slips his phone back into his pocket. His tone is laced with disapproval. “With your friend.”
Jostling my own phone toward him, I spout, “I got the message.” I don’t like it. Don’t know what I’m going to do about it.
“I’ll give you a ride,” Cort offers without hesitating, but he also sounds angry.
“Not if you’re angry about it,” I snap. “I’ll figure something out.” This is not my first rodeo being out with friends who want to scamper off and get laid. Kentucky isn’t a shitty friend; she really isn’t. She’ll come back for me. Turn tail and give up getting some when I respond back to her. Especially when this angry bear is glaring at me.
“You’re right. I’m pissed. Your wing woman shouldn’t have left you behind.”
I stare at him, befuddled a second before realizing he isn’t mad about giving me a ride. He’s upset on my behalf.
“And I’m still not leaving you alone in this crowded bar.” His gaze is hyper-focused on my eyes, like he’s forcing them to stay linked with mine, and the intensity alone imparts his decision. He isn’t leaving me behind.
“Let’s just watch the rest of the show.” His hand gently comes to my lower back. The motion hesitant and tender, unlike the way he was previously clutching at my hip.
He tugged me closer to him. Or maybe I just took the liberty to lean back, sizzling from his heat against me, shivering with the possibility of more with him.
I really thought he was going to kiss me for a minute there. Really wanted him to, if truth be told. But I’m not that girlanymore. The one willing to make out with just anyone or hookup with someone random.
And Cortland Haven is the last man I should take a risk on . . . again.
With a heavy sigh, I give him a final glance before lowering my head.
“I think I’d rather go home.”
Cort escortsme out of the venue, never removing his hand from my back, until we step outside. Like a bubble being released from a can, we both take in a breath of fresh air, until the chill hits me. I rub my hands up and down my arms when Cort drops his hand. Earlier, when we headed for Huntington, the temperature was much warmer. Now, the late-spring mountain air is giving me goosebumps and hard nipples.
As much as I’d love for Cort to wrap his arm around me to warm me up, he walks with his hands safely tucked in his pockets, keeping a good six inches between us. When we finally arrive at his truck, he opens the passenger door for me and holds out his hand to help me in. I reach for the grab handle instead and help myself.
I’m not mad at Cort. I’m disappointed in me.
Where did that reckless girl go? The one willing to make out with a guy behind a tree. The one eager to be touched and fucked by the falls. Oh, right . . . she grew up and she wants more.Deservesmore.
When Cort enters his truck, he starts the engine and music flares to life, filling the truck with classic rock. He turns it down and hits the heat. “You cold?”
“A little,” I admit, still rubbing my arms.
He reaches behind the seat, digging around before pulling forward a flannel shirt.
“I think it’s clean.” He brings it to his nose before holding the shirt open for me. “It will be warm at least.”
He doesn’t move to hand the flannel over. Instead, he leans toward me, flipping it around my shoulders and holding it, while I wrestle my arms into the longer sleeves. Once my arms are inside the warmth of the fabric, I stretch them above my head to force the loose sleeves to my wrists.
As I do this, Cort brings the two halves of the shirt together and buttons one button near my chest. Then a second button over my breasts. One more is just below them.
My chest heaves, my breath drawing deeper with each button he loops while I watch his nimble fingers dress me.
I could complain that I’m not a child and I don’t need his help, but something inside me stops my protest. Something reminds me I want him to take care of me.
When I look at his face, his concentration intent, he seems to realize what he’s doing and quickly withdraws his hands. Still, he remains close. His face only inches from mine. When he meets my gaze, he holds my eyes a second.
“I . . . uh . . . hope that’s better.”
I clench my fingers around the insides of the too-long material, making makeshift mittens. My throat is dry, just like it was earlier, when I thought he’d kiss me. When he didn’t, and I stalked off to get each of us a new beer.
