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Xander
The airin the truck was too thick, but I only had myself to blame. I shouldn’t have intervened. Or at least, I should have taken her straight to Jase’s and let him deal with her. But I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t do the right thing where Peyton was concerned.
She was under my skin, and the second she had stumbled over to me at the bar, I’d lost all sense of reason.
Fuck only knew what Tash and Shane thought of it all, but I’d deal with them later. Right now, I couldn’t think about anything besides the girl half-asleep in the seat next to me. Her eyes were heavy, her long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders like a golden waterfall.
She was too damn beautiful for her own good.
“You didn’t come to the game?” I asked.
“I had to work…” She peeked up at me, surprise swirling in her eyes.
“And here was me thinking you might be avoiding me.”
“You can’t say things like that to me…” Her breath caught, and she was right.
Damn, she was right.
I wasn’t supposed to be encouraging this… whatever this was. But I’d looked for her today and noticed her absence almost immediately. Jase had confirmed she was working a double shift at Cindy’s Grill, but I suspected that wasn’t the only reason she stayed away.
And I couldn’t blame her.
God, I was a fucking mess. And all over a girl I could never have.
Because this—her and me—it wasn’t an option.
Ever.
And yet… it didn’t stop me from imagining things.
“Who’s Tash?” Peyton whispered, stroking her fingers up and down my worn leather seat.
“A friend.”
“A friend you like to fuck?”
“Peyton.” I swallowed roughly. That word on her lips… it was sinful. Heat splashed inside me.
Get a fucking grip.I clenched my fist against my thigh. I needed to take her home, right now. Before I did something reckless, something I couldn’t ever take back.
Something that would doom us both.
“I was jealous, seeing you with her,” she said brazenly.
I wanted to believe it was the liquor in her veins talking, but when I dropped my gaze to hers, I saw the honesty glittering there.
Peyton meant every single word.
“We’re not… together.”
Why the fuck had I said that?
Maybe I should have told her we were and put an end to this thing brewing between us.
“You’re seventeen,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach.
