Page 51 of Soft Flannel Hank

“And what will you do?”

“I don’t know. I’ll sleep in the fucking truck or something.”

She was confused. “Why would you sleep in your truck?”

He looked at her, as if it was obvious. “To keep you safe.”

Her heart had been doing thatlurch, lurch, lurchso many times since that first night she’d met him. But with that admission, it was like it shuddered to a stop before resetting and beating at full capacity. In that moment, her heart could have pumped jet fuel up into a plane.

“I don’t want you to sleep in your truck, Hank.”

The muscle in his jaw shifted slightly, another tic of his she was beginning to recognize in her ever-expanding map of Hank Dove. “Then I guess you’re stuck here.” His eyes flicked down. Maybe he was embarrassed that he’d said that. That he’d said any of the things he had in the last few minutes.

She smiled, reaching out to clink her coffee mug with his. “Here’s to being stuck.”

He looked at her. She looked at him. And then he took his mug and raised it slightly in her direction before drinking.

In the silent house, she heard her phone ring from upstairs in the bedroom. She hadn’t called Shannon back last night. It was a miracle her cousin hadn’t been calling and texting every five minutes this morning.

“I’ve got to go get that,” she said.

“Sure.”

“Where’s the trash can?” She crumpled the foil wrapper in her hand as she stood.

“I’ll take it,” he said quietly, reaching his hand out, palm up.

Esther placed the wrapper in his hand and as he closed his fingers around it, they brushed the very tips of hers. That electric feeling, that glowing, neon current of energy sparked through her, coursing through her veins. She gasped as her gaze flew to his, shocked to find him watching her, steady as a rock.

Maybe he hadn’t felt it. Maybe it was all in her head. But the intensity in his stare made her knees weak all the same.

But she couldn’t deal with that right now. And so with the feeling of his fingertips still buzzing against hers, she turned and jogged out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

* * *

Hank felt that restless,crawling feeling under his skin as he watched Esther leave the kitchen. Her ass bounced a little with every step, and Hank wanted nothing more than to cross the kitchen in two steps, catch her, grip her ample hips in his fists, and fuck her from behind on the stairs.

He was imagining just how much her ass would bounce like that when he slapped himself on the cheek to bring himself back to reality. Hard.

This was a terrible idea. What had he been thinking?

It was one thing to have Esther in World’s End. That was torture enough. But at least when she’d been at Magda’s house, there was a long series of steps he would have had to undertake to get to her.Put on real clothes. Put on socks. Put on shoes. Tie shoelaces. Lock house. Walk to truck. Start truck. Drive truck. Park truck. Get out of truck. Walk to front door without chickening out. Knock on door.Each of which would have given him the chance him to stop and think, to provide ample opportunity to change his mind and just stay home.

But now? There were significantly fewer steps and therefore significantly fewer mental obstacles.Climb stairs. Open bedroom door. Take phone out of her hand and throw it on the bed. Smash lips to her face. Smash everything else together.

After all, he’d just fantasized about railing her on his damn stairs, and all she’d done was trot out of the room.

Goddammit.

This was aterriblefucking idea.

And yet, Hank couldn’t live with the thought of her anywhere else. Because even though he knew how ridiculous it sounded, he was half in love with her already. Which was inconvenient as hell. Even more inconvenient than the consuming lust. And even though he worried he may never walk the same way again with how his body was reacting to her nearness, he wanted her close. Heneededher close.

Because he’d meant what he’d said when he told her he would sleep in his truck if that’s what it took to keep her safe. But with her in his home, he found himself with a different problem: what the hell to do withhimself.

Ever since quitting his job and locking himself away, a big day for him consisted of showeringandeating three meals. Or, lately, going to therapy and then being so emotionally exhausted from it that all he could do was sit in his recliner and watchAntiques Roadshowafterwards.

He looked down at the protein bar wrappers in his hand, remembering the shock of electricity he’d felt when Esther’s fingertips brushed his. He’d felt it the other night in the diner, like the floor was charged and her gaze meeting his was the switch that flipped on and sent electrical pulses all through his body, starting at his feet. It had felt a lot like magic.