Page 8 of His Favorite Mistake

“No.” She bit the fullness of her lower lip and I nearly groaned. “I just don’t want my big mouth to make you change your mind.”

“Active mouths don’t bother me…as long as they’re used for the right things.”

Her pupils widened and now that lower lip dropped as if I’d scandalized her. “You—you’re not referring to— Yes, you are.”

Liking her reaction entirely too much, I stepped closer and stroked my calloused thumb over her petal-soft cheek. “Look at you, dropping right into the gutter.”

“I have never been in the gutter. Not one time.” Her vehemence—and seeming disgust—at that fact made twin flags of color rise in her cheeks. She was so animated, every thought telegraphing across her face. It made me want to give her more experiences, just to watch her process them.

“But you want to be?” I couldn’t disguise his surprise.

“Yes.” No hesitation whatsoever. “I’ve never been anything but the good girl. I’d never even speeded before tonight.” Her laughter held a note of desperation. “Hell, I hardly even get to drive myself anymore. Do you know what that’s like, to lose something that’s as much a part of you as your left arm?”

“Yeah.” I had to clear my throat. I understood all too well.

“I used to love to drive. Now I’m herded everywhere, from appearances to interviews to shows and back to whichever hotel I’m staying in, where I hide to avoid paparazzi.” As if realizing what she’d said, she glanced around and smiled faintly. “Hey, we’re still alone.”

“Not for long,” I muttered. “So you’re really a…pop star?”

I didn’t really even understand what that meant. Was she like a solo Americanized version of One Direction, with the addition of breasts? I had no clue who the current pop stars were, or even what that kind of music sounded like. Probably something my niece Jenny would listen to. She listened to bubblegum stuff that made my ears ring within a few moments of her turning it on.

She winced. “I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

“I didn’t, but Thomas did.”

At Thomas’s name, her face brightened. “Tommy? I know his brother Gabe from the country club. Or at least I used to.” She frowned. “A long time ago, back before everything exploded.”

“Your career? Or your life?”

“Both. It seemed to happen together.” Her chin trembled. “Did you call your buddies to take me in? Are you a cop?”

“Used to be,” I said before my brain kicked in. I didn’t want to make this personal.

What’s more personal than sex? Because you know damn well you didn’t want to take her home to split a beer.

Luckily, a radio car pulled up just then, lights off. The officer who stepped out, Jensen, was another old friend, and bonus, he processed the scene without becoming starstruck bythePeyton Prior. He didn’t question her to find out if she’d been drinking, but she appeared more than coherent as she admitted matter-of-factly that yes, she’d been speeding before causing the minor accident, and yes, the car belonged to the dealership. She seemed very apologetic and Jensen made no mention of other charges, since she indicated she’d already been in contact with the dealership about making reparations.

The Pryor effect was in full force.

I was tempted to pull Jensen aside to ask if he knew who she was, but from the wink he threw her just before he got back in his cruiser, I realized I’d been outgunned again.

Everyone knew Peyton it seemed. Except me.

A fact I intended to change soon.

The equally smitten Steve arrived just as Jensen was leaving, and he didn’t seem to appreciate me tugging Peyton away before he could chat her up beyond getting her insurance information and a few other particulars. Several times, she’d shot grateful looks at me that Jensen hadn’t “thrown the book at her”—something she’d mentioned numerous times, as if she got a charge out of the phrase—and she didn’t complain when I insisted it was time to go home.

“Your home?” she asked hopefully the moment we were out of Steve’s earshot.

I glanced back. Despite the arrival of the tow truck, the other man was still staring after them unhappily, his damaged Porsche the least of his concerns. Granted, he had insurance too, and retaining someone like Peyton as a client apparently mattered more than any lost time or inconvenience.

Though I would bet a thousand bucks that Steve wasn’t going easy on her in the hopes of recouping some money down the road if she purchased a vehicle.

He wantedher.

“Fucking boots,” I muttered, unlocking my truck and pulling open the passenger door.

“What?” Baffled, she glanced up at me.

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