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I collapsed against my seat and slammed the door closed. Rain thrummed against the roof of my car. Again, I was sitting behind the wheel with decisions whirling in my head.
I’d walked away from him a few nights ago.
Okay, ran. I wasn’t proud of it, but my self-preservation instincts had been in full effect. And I’d been able to ignore him for the last few days. Moving out of my house and into Sage’s apartment had taken up some time. Falling on my face in exhaustion had been the only way to survive after Sunday.
Now I was right here again. Choices had been made. Panties had been surrendered.
I bounced my head against my headrest. I hadn’t even blinked, just forked them over.
I wasn’t that girl, dammit.
Or maybe I was.
I squirmed in my seat as rain and my own slickness soaked my dress and coated my inner thighs. The rain had activated the dryer crystals I’d splurged on and my entire car smelled like wet springtime and a hint of sex.
Harbingers of the night to come?
He’d promised to make me beg. And sweet Jesus, I believed him.
The pocket of my denim jacket buzzed against the side of my breast. I hissed out a breath and fumbled it out.
Just a single number.
Seventeen.
Was it wrong that Winger immediately popped into my head? And right now, I felt like an illicit seventeen-year-old girl making crazy decisions. Of course, things would have been a lot easier if I had lost my virginity at seventeen like most of the girls I’d known in high school.
But no, had to tack on another decade for me. Late bloomer times one thousand.
A second later, another text came through.
Countdown begins.
Trumpets were blaring in my brain. Europe’s “The Final Countdown” was on repeat. God, I needed to get a grip.
I curled my fingers around my phone and stuffed it back into my pocket. I couldn’t even come up with a pithy reply. All we did was swap barbs. That was what we did. And all I could think of replying was…
Okay.
Yeah, not even close to worldly. Just dumb. So I didn’t reply at all. Part of me wanted to race inside and get it over with.
I hadn’t been lying when I’d said that to him.
As insane as it would be to do this with Seth, I was so damn overdue that my ovaries and hormones would officially go on strike if I said no to this opportunity. I had a feeling my sanity would be added to that list as well.
I shouldered the door open and winced at the grinding metal on metal action of the hinge. Time to oil that one up again. I needed to make this car last a little longer.
The winters were rough on cars in this area of New York. Snow and salt were as stubborn and bitchy as my boss, Mitch.
And I was officially stalling in the worst way possible.
My phone buzzed again.
You’re dangerously close to being carried in here, damn the consequences.
Yeah, no. That wouldn’t do. I could walk—well, drive. I could just turn over the engine and drive home. He wouldn’t follow.
Maybe.
