Page 8 of Holding Penalty

While I was checking my phone to make sure it wasn’t damaged, I noticed about two dozen texts and calls from Crew. I didn’t check any of them. I powered off my phone and stuck it in my purse.

Everything that’s happened since we got in the limo to drive home has been utterly surreal. Frankly, I want it to keep feeling that way for a little longer. I don’t want to deal with the reality of what happened. I don’t want to have to think of what I need to do about it.

My and Crew’s wedding is scheduled for next freaking week, so I’m going to need to start formulating some answers soon.

Reminding myself of that fact has a stab of anxiety digging deep into my stomach.

Yeah, I need to work on answers soon, but at least for the rest of tonight, at least until I get some sleep and wake up tomorrow morning, I want to prolong this bizarre night where reality is still at arm’s length.

The powerful but mellow purr of the truck’s engine starts up again as Nash turns the key in the ignition.

“So, where should I drop you off?”

Disappointment curls in my chest, and my lips dip into a frown at the thought of getting out of Nash’s truck and seeing him drive away. Just another bizarre phenomenon on this bizarre night: the guy I can’t stand has become something like a security blanket for me.

“How about the crappiest dive bar you can find in Austin?”

I’m staring out my window, but I can sense Nash turn toward me. I can feel the weight of his assessing gaze, sizing me up.

He grunts. “Sure. I guess I could use a drink after dealing with you.”

The way my heart does an excited leap should really concern me. “Just inviting yourself along to my sad girl sulk, Nash?”

“Let’s not call it that,” he grumbles. “If you don’t have a chaperone tonight, I’m concerned about what might happen.”

“Trying to keep me out of trouble?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever been able to keep you out of trouble, Piper. But hopefully I can mitigate it until your head’s screwed on a little better than it is right now.”

I do feel a bit loopy. The emotions swirling through me are too intense, too contradictory, too confusing. It’s like the Earth’s axis is constantly shifting underneath me. Frankly, I could use a chaperone.

“Fine. But you’re buying the first round,” I say.

A low chuckle rumbles from Nash’s throat. “I’m a pro hockey player, and you’re a baker. I think I’ll buy every round.”

“You might have a low opinion of my common sense, Nash, but I’ve got enough of it not to look a gift horse in the mouth.” I reach for his radio. “Let’s put some music on.”

I switch on the radio, just in time for the first twangy, forlorn notes of Neon Moon by Brooks & Dunn to play.

I bring my palm to my face as the singer starts to croon about heartbreak and lost love. Of course one of the saddest country classics is the first song I hear after what just happened.

“The universe is having a laugh at my expense tonight. That’s the only explanation.”

“We can change the station,” Nash says, reaching toward the radio.

“No, no, I actually like this song,” I dismiss Nash’s concern. I reach out to swat his hand away—and when I brush against his, electricity bolts through me.

Just the slightest glance of my fingers against the rough skin of his big, strong hand has sparks dancing all over my body, pulling my nipples into firm beads underneath my dress.

I glance at Nash. In the weak light from his dashboard, I notice his jaw muscles pop, his eyes unusually wide as he seems to strain to keep his gaze fastened on the windshield.

I pull my eyes away from him, swallowing thickly. I try to focus on the music and will my body to calm down.

After living next to him for two years, that was the first time we’ve ever touched.

Soon enough, we’re in the city proper, surrounded by lights and cars and other people.

“What shoe size are you?” Nash asks suddenly.