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“No, you don’t,” he insisted.
“Yes, I do!” I cried, pressing my forehead into his chest.
“Listen, you don’t, okay? If that’s why you’re crying…”
Sniffling hard, I pulled my arms from around him, trying to wipe my face with my hands, not the sleeves of my nice, new, designer shirt that he also seemed to have bought me. Along with my slacks, shoes, bra, and panties.
“It’s part of it,” I admitted when I could finally speak like a normal human being. But I still refused to move away from him.
“Come on. Let’s get in the car, then we can talk, okay?” he asked, his hand sliding back and forth across my lower back.
That little quiver that moved through me?
That was… unexpected.
“Okay?” he asked when I still didn’t move away.
“Okay,” I agreed, finally taking a step back.
I kept my head ducked, though, knowing what a mess I had been even before all the blubbering. I had to be hideous right then.
Clutching my bag with my earrings from my father in my hand, I followed Detroit as he led me down the stairs, to the lot, then opened the SUV door for me to slide in.
I didn’t feel like the tightness in my chest loosening until the door closed.
“Let’s get you out of here,” he said instead of launching right into it. “How about coffee on the way back to Shady Valley?” he asked.
Coffee.
God, yes.
That was exactly what I needed.
“I can make it at home,” I said.
“We’re getting coffee,” he said, brushing it off, likely knowing what I was thinking. That it would be another expense I couldn’t pay him back for. “Tell me what you want,” he added.
“A caramel swirl coffee with cream,” I told him.
“Hot?”
I was an iced coffee girlie a lot of the time.
But this was the sort of situation that called for hot.
“Please,” I said as he turned off the road and into a lot with a drive-through, getting me a coffee and a cake pop that I didn’t ask for, but my stomach was begging for.
It wasn’t until I’d taken a few sips and eaten the cake pop when he parked the car and looked over at me.
“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle.
He was always that way with me, actually.
Gentle.
I’d mused more than a few times that Detroit was a gentle giant. Because he was a massive man. Tall, broad, strong.
“No,” I admitted, finally looking over at him. “They think I’m a drug dealer,” I said, shaking my head.
