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Like I wasn’t myself.
I think that was what I liked most when it came to my ex-fiancé, Cole. He didn’t do parties. He didn’t do outings. He didn’t do anything on a large scale. He was a family person who didn’t leave his house all that much unless he had to.
He was a homebody like me. He was safe. He was definitely someone that I didn’t have to go out of my comfort zone to be around.
Faye had always hated him.
And I should’ve recognized that if my best friend didn’t like him, then I sure the hell shouldn’t either.
“That doesn’t excuse my lack of hospitality,” Cannel said. “I was just scared, and he pissed me off before he left because he didn’t stay around.”
“I didn’t stay around long because you got here and immediately started banging in the room beside mine,” my savior growled. “Which, quite frankly, isn’t something I want to listen to. So fucking sue me for leaving.”
I nearly laughed.
Would have had my savior not looked so pissy.
I swallowed it down and caught movement out of my right eye.
Turning, I frowned when I saw a nearly identical man to my savior standing almost directly next to me.
What the…
“Where are you from, darlin’?”
I looked up at the man that’d spent the last couple hours changing my life, then toward the man that looked almost exactly like him. A twin.
Imagine that.
“Um.” I paused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
His eyes sparkled as he said, “Tide, but my family sometimes calls me Rook. You can call me whatever you’d like.”
I swallowed, wondering if I’d ever get my savior’s name, or if I was destined to only call him savior in my head.
“My name is Sabrina, and I’m from Intercourse, Texas.”
I waited for them all to start laughing, but when none of them did, I took a closer look around at the room.
That’s when I noticed the one in the corner who looked like Thor.
He was fingering his leather vest—holy crap, were they in a motorcycle club?—and looking at me as if I was interesting.
It made me severely uncomfortable.
I took a step back from the man at my side, closer to the man that’d come more fully into the room to squeeze between everyone that was now standing still.
And looking at me.
Jesus, I felt my thighs twitch as if in preparation.
Yes, definitely time to run.
Would I make it back into my place?
When the silence stretched on and on, I slowly started to make my way toward the door.
The closer I got, the more interesting I became to them.
“So… nice seeing you,” I said as I reached for the door.
It wasn’t that I had anything to hide, or because I was scared or anything. It was because having people’s attention on me was debilitating.
It always had been.
Hence the reason I couldn’t actually do the career I went through four years of college to obtain the certifications to do.
The doorknob in my fingertips twisted easily, and before anyone could say a word, I was out the door and running for the stairs.
I made it to the top step when I realized my mistake.
It was still windy as fuck, and being on the shorter side of average, as well as not mechanically inclined to be able to stay upright even on the best of days, it meant that before I could even comprehend what was happening, I was all but flying over the balcony.
I would’ve flown straight down to the bottom, too, but that strong arm was back around my waist, pulling me into the very hard chest that I hadn’t realized I’d missed.
“Careful,” he urged as he brought me back into him.
I was soaked again, and so was he.
It took all of two seconds of being outside for it to happen.
I blinked, turned, and stared at the man that was holding me tight.
His hair was once again plastered to his face, but at least it was free of sand and dirt that was swirling around the area.
His eyes were a gorgeous shade of brown, like watered-down tea that’d been sitting in your cupholder in the middle of the Texas summer.
“Why’d you run?” he asked, looking pissed.
I blinked. “I…” I hesitated. “You were all looking at me. I don’t do well in large group gatherings, or in situations where I’m the center of attention. Everyone was looking at me and not saying anything…”
His lips twitched. “Yeah?”
I shrugged. “I was originally going to be a teacher. But I can’t make myself do the actual act of teaching. And, when I tried, it was horrible. Even with a group of eight-year-olds.”
He hauled me back toward the house—the door no longer open—and held on to the railing as he did.
The wind was sharp and intense, blowing even the big-bodied man, who still held me in his arms, around.
