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I need to go back, but if he drives any more, I’ll be walking farther than I would have from the camp.
The burning in my thighs won’t let me even think about asking them to stop and let me out to walk back, so instead, I ask him to take me back to the gas station.
“You want to go back and pay?” Michael asks.
“Yes.” I nod.
“No,” Daniel answers me.
Shit!My shoulders sag at his refusal.
I don’t want to walk after what he did, especially knowing he might catch me. Maybe I can sneak there tomorrow?
But just the thought of upsetting him has tears filling my eyes, and my body’s reaction only serves to upset me more. What the hell is wrong with me?!
Daniel looks down, catching sight of my face.
The truck stops so sharp, his tight grip around my waist is the only thing stopping me from slamming into the steering wheel.
“You’re crying.”
It’s a statement, but he sounds confused. Like he can’t understand why.
He stares down at me until my chin wobbles and a tear breaks free.
Suddenly, I find my face pressed against his chest, his hand holding me in place.
“Okay,” he says, but I feel the truck turn again, heading back toward the gas station.
“Who’d have thought?” Michael asks. “Out of all the women in the world, you’d pick a good girl.”
“My good girl.”
I don’t know if it’s the words, his growly voice, or a combination of both, but it makes me melt, physically and emotionally.
And I know, without a doubt, I’m in trouble.
CHAPTERSIX
Daniel
Michael grins, shaking his head as we pull into Duke’s station.
Still in my lap, Charlotte has now shifted forward, eager to get a better look out of the windshield.
Duke must have seen us approaching because he’s already at my window to greet us by the time I pull up. A light blush appears on his face when he sees Charlotte sitting on my lap. A raised brow is the only indication of the questions I know must be running through his head.
“Hey Duke, Daniel’s girl,” Michael says, hesitating, “wanted to come back and pay.”
Charlotte shifts, mistaking Michael’s pause for dislike of what her friend did, but I realize . . . he doesn’t know her name.
“Charlotte,” I say, resting my hand on her inner thigh, an encouragement to speak up.
“Charlie,” she corrects, smiling at Duke. “I’m sorry we left without paying, sir.”
I twitch. The use of that title for anyone but me just doesn’t sit right.
“I’m really sorry, Duke,” Charlotte tells him, and she means it. I can hear it, and Duke must see it because he reaches up and pats the back of her hand where she’s gripping the edge of the open window.
