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More aptly, why did I want to stare at him? That was not an appropriate thing to do. Staring. Appreciating how sculpted his arms looked in that tee. Thinking his hair looked good in a delightfully messy way. Wondering what it might be like to run my fingers through it.
It was the cocktails.
It had to be the cocktails. Laura Maye put something in them to cause these thoughts.
While I was thinking about all of this, apparently the drivers and passengers had been divvied up.
“Lizzie. You good to go with Kace?” Brock asked.
I blinked. This was not happening. I was already having weird feelings about his hair, no way should I be riding with him. But I definitely did not want to cause a scene about it. I couldn’t complain about the man giving up his Saturday night in order to drive the poor drunk widow home.
Plus, it’s not like it would be just us. And whoever else went in the car was going to sit in the front seat, of course, so she could do all the talking.
“Sure,” I shrugged, trying to force a smile or at least seem more sober than I was. The kids were having a sleepover at Amy’s now; she had asked me if it was okay earlier in the night. I’d said yes, then proceeded to down the cocktails. Since Ranger had died, I hadn’t spent a single night without my babies—not counting my breakdown night. Nor had they said anything about wanting to be away from me.
Both of them were understandably afraid of having their one remaining parent away from them for an entire night. They had the memory of their father putting them to bed then waking up to the news that they’d never see him again.
So this was a big step for them. I’d had to say yes, support my children in growing, healing, despite the thought of being alone in my house making me physically sick.
I went through the motions with everyone started hugging, kissing and making plans for hangover brunches.
“Do you want me to come and have a sleepover with you tonight?” Ashley offered once she let me go.
My throat clenched at the offer, at the softness in her eyes. The kindness. The pity. “No, sweetie. I’m good. Promise. I might even be able to sleep past six in the morning.” I winked.
She furrowed her brows ever so slightly, obviously not believing me but not going to push me on it.
“Ready?” Kace asked me once the obligatory, drunken goodbyes had been made.
It seemed he was only talking to me. “Wait, what? No one else is coming with us?” I looked around me for help, momentarily tempted to grab onto the nearest body, refusing to let go until I found a suitable buffer for the ride.
“Well, everyone whose husband isn’t here lives on the other side of town, Asher’s taking them. You alright with that?” Somehow, there was a challenge in his gaze, his tone. Or was I imagining that too?
On the off chance I wasn’t, there was no way was I about to back down, admitting any kind of weakness, especially where Kace was concerned.
“Of course,” I snapped. “Let’s go.” I stormed forward so I didn’t have to risk falling into step with him and to make my point. I think the point might’ve been made a little better if I hadn’t stumbled so much.
The air outside was balmy and thick compared to the air-conditioned bar. Especially when I stopped on the sidewalk because I had no idea which car I was meant to be getting into. That, of course, gave Kace time to catch up to me and get close enough for me to smell his cologne.
“It’s the red one. On the right.” There was poorly hidden amusement in his tone.
I looked to my right, where a Camaro was parked in front of Asher’s SUV.
“Really?” I scoffed.
He shrugged. “I like cars.”
It hit me then. The vast majority of the Sons of Templar men were married with children. They drove Harley’s, of course. But their second vehicles were SUVs or manly trucks capable of hauling furniture their wives bought, bikes their kids rode or the charred remains of a playhouse that Mia and Zane’s boys had set on fire.
But Kace didn’t have children or a wife to worry about. He was a young, single man in a motorcycle club with a decent amount of disposable income.
I was getting in the car with an unattached man with nice muscles, I was drunk, and hadn’t had a warm body beside me in over a year.
This was dangerous.
But I had no other choice.
I got in the car.Chapter 8The ride wasn’t awkward.
I wanted it to be.
Somehow, it would’ve been easier if it was awkward. It would’ve been good. It would’ve helped if whatever I thought I felt toward this man was imagined or brought on by the strong cocktails. Sure, the fact that I was tipsy helped make things less awkward. But mostly it was just... Kace.
