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But she soaked it all up, secretly enjoying it. When was the last time she had juicy tidbits to share? Oh, she didn’t tell them everything. No way could she reveal Tate’s penis size—large. Or that particular trick he did with his tongue on her . . .
Hmm. Her skin grew hot just thinking about that tongue trick.
As she pulled into the Bigfoot Diner parking lot, she glanced in her rearview mirror just in time to see a dark sedan enter the lot behind her. She frowned, watching it pull into a spot at the far end of the lot, then turned her engine off. She swore that same car had been following her earlier, when she drove back to Tate’s from the dance studio. If it wasn’t that exact car, it was an eerily similar one.
Weird.
She exited her car and went into the restaurant, waving a greeting at Harper’s grandma, who was behind the counter cutting a piece of peach pie for one of the longtime residents of Wildwood. He was an old grumpy dude who came into the BFD practically every day, and Harper insisted he was hot for her grandma.
Most of the older single men in Wildwood were hot for Harper’s grandma, so this didn’t surprise Wren at all.
She paid for her meal at the hostess stand, grabbed the to-go sack, and bounded out of the diner, practically running to her car. She was eager to get home so she could eat. Her stomach growled at the aroma coming from the paper bag, and she recalled that she’d skipped lunch after feeling guilty for eating two chocolate doughnuts before her run with Delilah.
Yeah. She needed to reevaluate her eating habits—they sucked, and she wasn’t getting any younger. She had a high metabolism now, but that could all go to hell by the time she was thirty. Maybe Tate could help her with that. He was in excellent shape, with abs that made her feel like a lesser human being. And while normally that would give her a major hang-up, right now she was reveling in it because, damn it, those were her abs to explore and touch with her hands and lips and tongue.
Smiling, she drove back to Tate’s house with the radio cranked up, singing as loud as she could to the latest summer hit. There was always one song people could count on to remind them of a particular summer, and this year was no exception. Every time she heard the song, she thought of Tate. Not of her house burning down or her friends giving her grief or her worry over her future and how tempted she’d been by that crazy offer from Levi . . .
Funny, how she never heard from him again after that long coffee date, which had happened days ago. He was probably back in San Francisco by now. Good riddance. This was the summer of Tate, not Levi.
Just thinking about Tate made her stomach flutter. His naughty smile every time he called her by a different bird nickname. The glow in his eyes when he’d stared at her that night in his hallway, just before he kissed her for the first time. Oh, and how he kissed, so thoroughly obliterating her brain cells until she was nothing but a boneless heap slumped against a wall. He was a master orgasm provider too. She’d come three times that night—or had it been four? Yeah, four times, good grief. A girl would be stupid to let go of a man who had a record like that. Though he had other redeeming qualities too . . .
Plenty of them. Too many to mention. She just flat out liked the man. Liked the way he made her feel, and that was important. Levi had always made her feel like she was second best. The other men she’d dated in the past had done much the same, putting their jobs and themselves ahead of her every single time.
Not Tate. He seemed focused on only her. He had a job that he was passionate about, but he was passionate about her too. And that was heady stuff.
She pulled into Tate
’s driveway and cut the engine, climbing out of the car with the paper bag from the BFD clutched tightly in her fingers. It was already starting to get dark. Tate would come home tomorrow. She’d been on the phone with him earlier, and they ended up talking for over an hour, planning what they’d do once he was off for three days—it sounded like all he wanted was her. In bed. Naked.
She was fine with that.
Smiling to herself, she hit the keyless remote to lock her car and headed for the front door, a little thrill zipping down her spine as her fingers slid over the key to Tate’s house. She was being silly, thinking it meant something that they lived together, when really he was just being a friend at the time he offered, but still. They were living together. And even though the plan was that she would be there for only a short while, they were getting along—rather well was probably an understatement.
She understood the life of being with a firefighter. She’d grown up the daughter of one; she knew what their hectic schedules were like. If they could make this work and turn it into something real . . .
The sound of a car approaching made her pause in the middle of the walkway, and she turned toward the street, waiting for the car to pass, curious to check it out. Tate lived in a cul-de-sac, and not many cars drove down the short road beyond the few neighbors he had. When she saw that it was the same dark sedan from earlier at the BFD, everything inside her went cold.
And then everything went into motion.
Wren darted for the front door, practically tripping over her feet as she flew up the porch’s short steps. Her hands shaking, she tried to stick the key into the front door and missed, cursing under her breath as she glanced over her shoulder. Damn it, she just wanted to get inside and call 911. Or maybe she should call Lane directly? He’d probably get there faster. Was he on duty tonight? God, she had no idea, though she used to keep track of his schedule. Why, she wasn’t sure.
Stop thinking about stupid shit, and get inside!
She leaned against the door and slipped the key into the dead bolt and turned it, feeling it give a little under her weight. She shoved the door open and slipped inside, slamming the door and turning the lock with satisfying brute force. Dropping the bag of food on the coffee table, she grabbed her phone out of her purse and dialed Lane’s number. Going to the window, she peeked through the edge of the curtain to watch as the sedan sat idling in front of Tate’s house. The engine shut off, as did the lights at the precise moment Lane answered her call.
“Wren, what’s going on?”
His answer made her rear back a little. “How do you know something’s going on?”
Lane cleared his throat, sounding irritated. “Uh, why are you calling me? Is everything okay?”
“Someone’s following me,” she whispered, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest when she saw the driver’s side door of the sedan open and the shadow of a very tall man climb out of the car. The rapidly descending darkness made it hard for her to make out his features. “Oh my God, he’s at my house! He got out of his car. I think . . . shit, I don’t know what to think.”
“Hold on. I’ll be there in a minute,” Lane said grimly.
“A minute? Where exactly are you?” Her throat went dry, and she let the curtain fall back into place, not wanting to see this guy come toward her house.
Then again, she might need to notice details for whatever police report she was going to have to give.
