Page 114 of Playing With Love

“No.”

I’d wanted to save Ally from seeing him, save her from the carnage, but it was too late and I needed her help to get him up the stairs.

“No?”

“Either way, I’m not leaving him down here.”

“Liza.”

“I can’t know. Not yet. Just help me get him up the stairs.”

Sympathy infused Allyson’s features.

“Just tell me what to do.”

“Grab his feet. I’ll get under his arms.”

Compassion morphed into determination, which in turn bolstered my resolve.

We could do this.

No. We had to do this.

I needed Tucker and Allyson out of the fire.

A few seconds later, I learned a hard truth: resolve and determination were no match for physics.

I could want to get Tucker up the stairs, I could be more determined than I’d ever been in my entire life, but the reality of carrying a two-hundred-pound man up a flight of stairs while he was dead weight and smoke was filling up the room had nothing to do with how badly I wanted to get Tucker to safety.

“You need to leave me here and go,” I told Allyson.

“I’m not⁠—”

“Ally, the basement is going to explode any second. Go. Get the hell out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she grunted as she went up another step.

“Ally—”

“Go. Pull harder,” she demanded.

I hefted up a step, slipped, landed on my ass. Tucker’s big body trapped my legs under him.

Attitude is a sign of weakness. Unintelligent women use brash behavior to hide their stupidity. No man will put up with bickering with a nagging woman because she’s too stupid to admit she’s wrong.

I love you and right now you don’t want to hear those words, but it doesn’t make them any less true.

God, I wanted to hear Tucker tell me he loved me.

Mine.

Mine. Tucker was mine.

We were all going to blow sky high if I didn’t pull my shit together.

“Ready?” I asked Ally.

“Ready!”