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He sighs. “At least you put pants on,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Come on, before you freeze your toes off.” He pauses and cuts me a look. “Unless you’d rather follow in your own car?’
I shake my head. “No, my car’s in the shop.”Again.
At this rate, I should probably just admit defeat and start saving for a new one rather than keep pouring money into a lost cause.
“Are you…are you okay with coming to my place, or we could go somewhere more public?”
Swallowing, I consider my decision for all of two seconds before I blurt. “Your place.”
My cheeks heat and I glare at some spot below his chin.
He coughs to hide his chuckle, but I hear it all the same.Nice. Way to play hard to get. You’re supposed to be mad, and hurt, and closed off.
Leading me around the front of his truck, he opens the passenger door. He turns and frowns down at me, before brushing the snow out of my hair. “You need a hat in this kind of weather. Gloves too.”
I roll my eyes before I can help it. There’s just something about his gruff, almost begrudging concern that transports me right back to Black Diamond, and has me slipping back to who I was there.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me. Winters up here are nothing to fuck with.”
“Yes, sir,” I say bitterly.
He narrows his eyes, and I suck my cheeks together.
“You’re asking for it,” he says huskily, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
I feel like I’m flying—my heart racing so fast, like it could carry me up into the air. Glancing up at him through my lashes, I find myself biting back softly, “Maybe I am.”
His eyes flare. “Careful, sweetheart,” he rumbles warningly.
I bite my lip and he groans.
Tipping his head back, he squeezes his eyes shut. “Talk. Talk, talk, talk.”
Frowning, I make a face, ready to open my mouth and ask him what the hell that means, when he suddenly picks me up by the waist and all but chucks me in the passenger seat of his truck.
Slamming the door shut, he rounds the hood and angrily climbs behind the wheel, slamming his door too.
Okaaaay then.
Now he’s mad too.
Perfect.
He shoves the key into the ignition, cranking on the engine. The radio comes to life, blasting some heavy rock song I don’t recognize. He lowers the volume, and shifts into drive, easing the truck onto the road.
Neither of us say anything for a while. The silence is heavy, but not painful.
The windshield wipers move rhythmically across the glass, batting away the thick flakes falling faster and faster with each mile. As if the farther we get away from town, and deeper into the surrounding country we get, the heavier it falls.
I knead my hands together in my lap, bending and cracking my knuckles.
“Cold?” he says. Not waiting for a response, he reaches for the heat dial, turning it up.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
Another grunt.
I turn my head to face the window, staring at the dark, swirling vortex of snow passing by.
