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Aw, he cares. How cute. Of course I’m fine, how can I not be, sitting beside a hottie like him, in his truck—
A wave of nausea grips me, turning everything inside me to acid. Choking on it, I lean my head back and close my eyes.
Please don’t let me throw up in his truck. Please dear God, don’t let me upchuck all the shots and beer I drank in his clean, musty truck with the smell of dead flowers, with his cool blue eyes on me, his warmth beside me.
The urge to throw up subsides, and sleep teases at the edges of my consciousness. As I slip under, I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
Hey, I got to feel his muscular arms and chest from up close. And I didn’t throw up. At least there’s that, right? A girl’s gotta cherish small victories.
I guess the night wasn’t a complete loss after all.
***
There is a low, deep voice in my ear, a rumble against my side. I’m swaying to a gentle rhythm, warmth all around me. I curl up more, cuddling to it, not wanting it to go. A steady beat echoes that of my heart.
Take me home.
I murmur the words as I slide through space and time, my path strewn with Tarot cards, all facing down.
The way isn’t clear. The past is murky behind me, but I make out faces—my sister and brother, my parents, my uncles and aunts. They look annoyed and disappointed in me for not listening to them, for setting out to do my own thing.
Fashion design? Seriously, Kayla? And then what will you do for a living? And what will people say?
Why can’t you be quietly conservative and loudly disapproving of anything new and different like the rest of your family, your neighborhood, your little lost town in the middle of nowhere?
What are you looking for?
I wish I knew the answer. Leaving home I never had a precise destination, a firm goal. Being happy, and free, and allowed to search for ways to be that was all I wanted.
And now, drifting in this warmth, in the scent of metal and pepper and the feel of a heartbeat under my own, it feels as if I’ve reached a goal, found a place where I can be.
I don’t want this dream to end.
A door slams, the sound jolting me wide awake. Blinking my eyes open, I look around. For a second nothing makes sense, and fear squeezes my chest. I’m curled up, still, but the world around me is moving—walls sliding by, shadows slipping past.
“Kay,” a voice rumbles against my ear. “I need your key to open the door.”
I jerk, and the warm surface I’m cuddled against shifts. I crane my neck to look up.
Ocean’s face, staring down at me. Something flashes through those blue eyes. Annoyance? Amusement? Damn, I normally can read faces like they’re open books.
Whoa. I’m in Ocean’s arms. His muscular, strong arms, and he’s carrying me to my apartment.
“Key,” he repeats, hefting me in his arms, and I repeat this in my head until it sinks in.
We are, in fact, standing in front of my apartment door.
Door.
Key.
I wiggle in his hold, and bending his knees, he lets me glide down to the floor. He keeps his hands on me, though, as I fight to regain my balance, his fingers tight on my hips, under my coat, and heat seeps through the thin fabric of my skirt.
He’s so tall. I’m not that short, but he makes me feel tiny.
I don’t dislike the feeling. At all.
“The key,” he says again, one side of his generous mouth kicking up in a half-smile, and that’s not helping with my concentration—or lack thereof.
