All Broke Down (Rusk University #2) by Cora Carmack

invited, Williams, is already passed out on your couch, too. Ryan is still there. He’ll try to make sure nothing crazy happens, but you know the guys will listen to you more than him.”
    “I got it, McClain. You’ve done your QB duty for the night.” He shoots me a quick look over his shoulder and adds, “And then some. Thanks both of you. Sorry I dragged you out to take care of my ass.”
    “It’s cool.”
    The girl’s tight smile says otherwise, but I figure there’s some story there that I’m just not getting.
    He pats a hand on the top of the car, and then stands back as they pull away. He turns toward his truck and then shrugs at me.
    “Sorry it’s not much.” He opens the door, and there’s just one long bench seat, so it looks like I’ll be squeezed in the middle again. The truck is tall, and I pause before climbing in, looking for a place to grab where rust won’t rub off on my hand.
    Two big hands settle on my waist, and Silas lifts me up and plops me behind the wheel. My heart turns over at the touch, but it’s gone just as fast as it started. I slide over to the middle section, and I have to put one foot on either side of the old-fashioned stick shift that goes all the way down to the floorboard. The passenger door swings open, and both Silas and Matt slide in at the same time, caging me in with their big bodies.
    “You guys have a ride you want me to take you to?”
    Matt answers, “Nah. We carpooled with friends.”
    He looks at me then. “You still okay with coming to mine?”
    I take a breath and hold it in for a few seconds. I wait for the flash of misgiving, the feeling in my gut that should tell me to go home, be reasonable, call my father. It doesn’t come. Quite the opposite, in fact. I look up at him, and I feel that same insistent pull that made me disobey the dispersal order at the shelter.
    Finally, I nod. He turns over the key, the engine cranking loudly, and then reaches between my legs to shift into reverse. He pulls the stick down, and it comes much closer to the seat than I anticipated, which means Silas’s hand is between my thighs, his knuckles grazing my skin until I widen my legs another inch. He keeps his hand there as he backs out, and his forearm rests on my thigh. Goose bumps are popping up all around that point of contact, and I hope he doesn’t notice. His arm rubs against me as he shifts into various gears, and even when he could return his hand to the wheel, he doesn’t.
    I wouldn’t be surprised if he could feel my pulse from that touch because I swear I can feel it all over. But he doesn’t do anything else. Just that simple, maddening graze of his forearm over the top of my thigh.
    He turns onto a residential street that skirts the edge of campus, and I can guess which house is his by the cars lined up on the sides of the street. The driveway is open, though, and he pulls right in. His house is wooden and small and painted a cheerful green that seems an odd fit for Silas. It appears haphazardly built, like it’s been added on to poorly over the years.
    When he gets out of the truck, and I slide over to follow, I’m mortified to feel that not just my underwear, but my shorts are damp. If this is how my body reacts to a few touches, what will happen if he really touches me? Kisses me even?
    I’m getting ahead of myself. Going to a party doesn’t mean anything is going to happen. I throw both legs over the side of the seat, and Silas is there, his hands at my waist again. But this time he lingers as he puts me on my feet. His thumb brushes back and forth over a tiny strip of skin between my shorts and my shirt, running along the bone of my hip.
    “You’re sure it’s okay if we crash your party?”
    He stops the brush of his thumb, and grips my hip instead.
    “I’m sure, Pickle.”
    Matt gives a whooping sort of laugh as he comes around the nose of the truck, like he’s just accomplished something by passing that atrocious nickname along to someone