AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I like the truck more.” She shrugged. “Remember when we used to go up to Uncle Chas’s farm and race?”
Dillon laughed.
“Yeah, I remember.” His reflective voice had her missing those years as she stepped outside the restaurant and felt the warm summer air.
“We need to do that again one night,” she sighed.
“You say that every time you get tipsy, Sarah,” he chided her. “One of these nights, I’m going to hold—“
“Dillon.” Brock was suddenly standing there. Tall, fierce, frowning as he watched Sarah lean against him for support.
Dillon sighed. “She’s not crying, Brock. I’d like to keep my nose in reasonable shape.”
Sarah frowned as she watched a smile creep over Brock’s lips.
“It’s none of his business, Dillon,” she sniffed. “Let him go find a girl of his own. “ The irony of that statement had the men exchanging a telling glance.
“Deviants,” she muttered, catching the look. “Go away, Brock. You’re annoying me.”
Surprise registered on Brock’s face as Dillon smothered his laughter.
“Is she drunk?” he asked Dillon suspiciously.
“I am not drunk, I am just a shade tipsy,” she informed him regally. “That’s all.”
“She’s a very lady-like drunk,” Dillon told Brock with mock seriousness.
“I am always lady-like,” she told them both with a disdainful tone.
Brock crossed his arms over his chest, watching her from lowered brows.
They were standing in the parking lot, close to Dillon’s truck, but closer to Brock’s jeep. Her face flamed remembering what had happened in the front seat of that jeep.
“I’m ready to go home.” She moved away from Dillon’s support, very proud of the fact that she walked reasonably straight. “Come along, Dillon, maybe I’ll let you tuck me in.”
At first, the whacking sound of a blow didn’t register in her mind.
“Dammit, you fucking hit me.” She heard Dillon’s outraged voice a second after the sound of flesh connecting to flesh.
“At least I didn’t break your fucking nose,” Brock bit out furiously. “Keep your perverted ass away from her.”
“Me? Perverted?” Dillon wheezed. “That’s a low blow coming from you, you black-hearted bastard.”
Sarah turned slowly. Dillon was resting against the back of a Suburban, gasping, his hand clutched over his waist. Brock was staring at him furiously.
“Neanderthal,” she bit out. “Why did you hit him?”
“What the hell are you doing offering to let him tuck you in?” he growled.
Sarah frowned. “He always tucks me in when I get drunk. He even sings to me if I ask him to.”
Surprised fury registered on Brock’s face, disgruntlement on Dillon’s.
“Fuck, Sarah,” Dillon moaned. “Keep your damned voice down.”
Brock’s face reflected surprise.
“Why the hell would he do that?” Brock was almost yelling.
