Page 70 of It Should Have Been You

Yep, here goes my brain misfiring because I’m truly considering it. That old curiosity is breaking out of its shell to bite me in the ass.

When I don’t speak, he says, “Plan on standing here in the rain?” His gaze lifts from me to scan the night sky.

“It’s not raining.”

“No, but it’s going to… any minute now.”

Sure enough, when I follow his gaze, the night is clear, but a distant rumble of thunder rolls across the sky.

My protests are rendered moot.

I can’t get a cab, and I would rather suffer in Logan’s car than go back inside.

Folding my arms over my chest, I tip my head back to look at him. “Is this your thing?”

“What?”

“Giving random women rides home.”

His gaze heats my skin. “Tonight it is,” he says, his voice lowered in a tone that has me inching toward him.

A palpable tension brews, stretching out and enveloping us. I’m torn between stepping back or stepping closer. It’s an odd feeling. So much time has passed, yet here we are, as if the past decade never happened.

But it did. It’s why I’m on the sidewalk trying to hail a cab.

And it’s with that thought my chest tightens.

I trusted him enough ten years ago to get on the back of his bike, what’s so different now?

Me.

I’m different.

Seeing him only serves as a reminder of the girl I once was, and for just a little while, I would like to be her again.

With a resigned sigh, I look up at him, my decision made. “Lead the way.”

Dipping his chin, he gestures for me to follow. The impending storm and the man standing next to me—both seem equally unpredictable, but I find myself stepping into the chaos, if only to remember what it feels like for a couple of minutes.

I trail behind him as the wind rustles. The earlier clear sky has been replaced by dark clouds rolling in.

Logan, a few paces ahead of me, opens the door of a sleek, black, very expensive, very new, Range Rover. With a shaky smile, I slide into the passenger seat, the soft leather plush beneath me. As I buckle up, he closes the door, rounding the car to the driver’s side before slipping into the seat with an ease that’s disarmingly comfortable.

He catches me watching him, and a lopsided grin plays on his lips. It stirs something in my belly. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or the need to vomit, but I decide to ignore it.

A tense silence follows as he drives away and into the city streets.

Despite the warm air wafting through the car, a chill snakes its way up my spine. I attempt to shake it off, but my hand trembles slightly, betraying my attempts at keeping calm.

How am I supposed to keep calm?

I’m in his car.

Universe, I am not okay.

I mumble my address, afraid to say anything else.

His gaze flickers to me as he maneuvers around a tight corner.

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