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I don’t mean to speak, but I do. “Reece?”
For a second he’s quiet, and I think he’ll ignore me, but then he clears his throat and responds in a quiet voice. “Yeah.”
Crap. Didn’t think this through. There are so many things I want to say, ask…do.
I blow out a breath. “Thanks.”
“For?”
I pluck at the hotel comforter. “For yesterday. For coming after me and holding me, even though I know you hate me.”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to confirm that he doesn’t hate me. Which is stupid. He has no reason to hate me. He’s the one who ruined things.
I hold my breath anyway.
Deny it. Say you miss me like I miss you.
There’s a rustling noise, then the creak of a crappy couch. “Night, Lucy.”
I squeeze my eyes shut in disappointment. His ex-girlfriend is wearing tiny pajamas, not ten feet from him, and he’s not even interested.
Which…I shouldn’t care. I k
now I shouldn’t. Reece Sullivan hurt me more than anyone’s ever hurt me. I should be keeping my distance. Not to mention I just ended a relationship; the last thing I should be thinking about is hooking up with Reece.
And yet I lie awake long into the night. Wondering what if.
Remembering the good parts a lot more vividly than the bad.
Chapter 21
Reece
I rub my forehead in exasperation.
“You missed the exit.”
I can actually hear Lucy’s teeth grinding together, even over the hard rock I’ve put on to punish her for the fact that I can’t stop thinking about her ass in those little shorts last night, nor her tits in the dress….
“Maybe if you’d told me that was our exit before we passed it,” she snaps, moving into the far right lane so we can get off the freeway and backtrack.
“I did tell you,” I growl.
“Oh, you mean when you muttered something under your breath, and then wouldn’t repeat it when I asked?”
I reach for my M&M’s and toss back a handful to keep from reaching across the car and strangling her.
We haven’t gotten off to a good start this morning. I think it was sharing the bathroom that did it. Having to sit and listen to the water running, knowing that only a single door separated me from her naked body.
And then she came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, dark hair dripping water over her collarbone, smelling like vanilla and Lucy….
“You’re a terrible navigator,” she gripes.
I don’t deny this. I hate navigating. It’s making me crazy not to be the one driving. I have nothing to do with my hands, too much free reign for my brain to go places it shouldn’t.
“Right or left?” she asks impatiently when she gets to the bottom of the off-ramp. “Actually, never mind. We’ll fill up on gas, and I’ll figure out directions and drive.”
No chance. The second she gets out of the driver’s seat, I’m in it.
