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He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it like a Victorian gentleman.
I catch Knox’s eye roll before he says to Trevaughn, “You’re an idiot,” then, “See you after the races. I’m going to get set up.”
“Bye, Knox.”
I’m looking forward to working closely with him. Knox has been steadily working his way up the rankings over the last two years, and everyone says that this is his year to make it to the top three in the standings.
Even though the crowd here tonight is loud and rowdy, the silence that descends the patch of dirt where Tate, Trevaughn, and I are standing is deafening.
Tate shuffles his work boots awkwardly and runs a hand through his mop of hair. I bite my bottom lip and fidget my restless hands.
Trevaughn seems to catch on and backs away, saying, “I’ll go help Knox get ready. Nice to meet you, Peyton.”
I give a finger wave goodbye, but my sole focus is on Tate.
“Walk with me?” I ask him.
His eyes widen with brief shock, and he hesitates for what feels like an excruciatingly long time before he nods.
Strolling side by side, I have to crick my neck to look up at him. I’d forgotten how tall Tate was. I’m five foot seven, and he towers over me like a sequoia would a rose bush. The breeze teases my hair and carries with it the subtle cologne clinging to his skin. Sandalwood and citrus. The football jersey I stole from him the last night we were together lost his scent a long time ago. I still wear it to sleep in. It’s silly and sentimental, but having something of his so close to my skin helped with the heartache of missing him.
After a few minutes, we find ourselves standing next to his black Chevy Silverado. A rush of memories comes tumbling forward, of long drives with the windows rolled down and hot-as-hell make-out sessions while parked under the stars.
I walk around to the back and pull the handle to let the tailgate down, then hop up and dangle my legs off the end. Tate slowly comes around to stand in front of me, and the urge to wrap my legs around his waist and pull him to me is almost irresistible.
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and looks off to the side. It used to be something he’d do when nervous, and for some reason, seeing him do it bolsters my mood.
“You’re Ryder’s new hire, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
Not able to hold back any longer, I hook my finger in the hem of his shirt and twist until he takes a step closer. His hot blue gaze returns to me, and my belly swoops when I see the swirling tumult of emotion etched on his handsome face.
“Peyton, what the hell? Why would you come back?”
Steeling my courage, I take a shaky breath and reply, “I came back because this is where I want to be. Here. With you.”
He opens his mouth, but I don’t let him spew the bullshit I know is coming. Screw Parker and screw him. I did what they asked. I worked my ass off at CU and graduated with honors. But that’s as far as I’m willing to let them control my life. I refuse to exist in a world where I’m merely content. With myself, with my life partner, with my job. I don’t want a boring,contentlife. I want one filled with happiness and love and a man who both infuriates me and sets my soul on fire.
I touch his chest. So solid and warm. Familiar. His heart drums a fast staccato under my palm, and I count the beats because my heart plays the same rhythm.
“I love you, Tate. I never stopped.”
I expect him to argue or curse or lie again and say he doesn’t want me. What I’m not prepared for is for him to take my face in his large, calloused hands and kiss the ever-living hell out of me.
SIX
TATE
Two minutes.
I lasted two whole freaking minutes before I couldn’t stop myself from kissing her.
Peyton Marley will always be my kryptonite.
And she said she still loves me.
After all this time. After what I said and how I treated her to make sure she left Fallen Brook for CU—good intentions and promises made to Parker beside the point. It was still cruel.
