The seatbelt slides through my fingers as I pull it across his chest. My knuckles brush his shirt. His breath catches, faint but sharp, and I feel it more than hear it.
His gaze stays on my face.
I click the buckle into place. “There,” I murmur.
I don’t move right away.
Neither does he.
My hand rests near his hip, just above the buckle. His chest rises slowly, controlled, like he’s forcing himself not to react.
But he is reacting.
Beautifully.
His eyes lift to mine. “Violet.”
My name sounds rough. Almost pleading.
I let my gaze drift to his mouth.
Then back to his eyes.
“You’ve been drinking,” I remind him.
His jaw tightens. “I know.”
I nod, then step back and close the door before either of us does something
He watches me through the window as I walk around the car.
By the time I slide behind the wheel, his hands are braced against his thighs like he doesn’t trust them.
I start the engine.
For a few seconds, neither of us says anything.
I shift to drive and head down the driveway to the street.
The road stretches out ahead of us, quiet and dim, the last bit of light slipping from the sky. Drew leans back against the seat, staring out the windshield, but his attention isn’t on the road.
It’s on me.
“So... where were you tonight?” he asks. “Before you came home and discovered me being beaten by a racket.”
I laugh. “I had a meeting with a client. We met for coffee and outlined her social media strategy. Discussed SEO.”
He nods. “Oh.” His fingers drum against his leg. “I’m trying not to say anything stupid.”
“You’ve had an eventful night. I think stupid already happened.”
He huffs out a laugh, then winces slightly, touching his side.
“Sore?” I ask.
“A little. Most of it’s my pride.”
“And your head.”
