boxed dinners for my father and brother. If not there, then locked in my bedroom, listening to my mother and father fight when he stops by her room to “visit.” Hoping he doesn’t try to “visit” my room as well.
Mine is not a world Sam belongs in.
Before we reach his car, I wriggle my hand free. I feel his searching gaze on my face, but I won’t look at him. I refuse to see any more disappointment directed my way.
Sam holds open the passenger door while I slide into the seat, then closes it carefully behind me. His car may look like a junkyard reject on the outside, but the floors are clean and the smooth, charcoal-colored seat covers beneath my fingers feel new.
I jerk my hand away. Charcoal-colored seat covers, charcoal-colored eyes. I need to forget those eyes.
He opens his door far less gingerly and folds his long body into the cramped seat. For several excruciating moments, we don’t do anything but sit and stare at the shadowy forest in front of his car. If this is how the entire one-hour drive is going to be, my disaster of a night just went from bad to worse.
“Do you mind if I sleep?” I ask. “It’s been a really long day.”
“Was it that bad?”
His disappointment makes me feel worse. Irritated, I wrap the drawstring of my—no, his —sweatshirt around my finger and mumble, “Not all of it. Some of it was…nice.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I chance a quick glance in his direction. The way he’s staring at me—like he’s five seconds away from dragging me into his arms—sends tingling zaps of light shooting through my body. There’s no way can I break eye contact when he looks at me like this.
He leans closer, one hand plucking my fingers from the noose I made of the drawstring while the other moves to cup my cheek. “I almost didn’t come tonight. For the first time ever, I almost didn’t come. But James called while you were at the hair place and said he might be bringing you, so…”
His gaze roams over my eyes, my lips, my cheeks. We’re going to kiss—I can feel how much he wants to straight down to my toes. And judging by the heat in his eyes, it’s not going to be as simple as what almost happened in the forest.
Despite the logical part of my brain screaming at me to run and hide in the trees—seriously, what does he see in me?—I melt into his touch, face upturned, waiting for the moment Sam knocks my world off its axis.
That moment never happens.
An explosion louder than a dozen shotguns blasts through the trees and nearly sends me scrambling into Sam’s lap. Cheering and laughter cuts through the dim ringing in my ears. A string of shrieked curses that sound very much like Leslie quickly follow.
Sam closes his eyes and lets out a frustrated cinnamon-tinted groan, but he doesn’t pull away. Even when another blast rocks the forest, he holds me close, a mere breath away from kissing, his gaze boring into mine.
That’s all my logical side needs to take over.
I recoil, removing Sam’s hand from my face before curling in on myself in the passenger seat. What the hell am I doing? James could have seen us. Even now, he might be in the woods watching.
“We should probably go,” Sam says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops all the way back in town heard those.”
Maneuvering a small sports car through trucks and SUVs wedged together like a twenty-car pileup is a nightmare. Sam curses a lot, mainly at the latecomers who boxed him in and the people streaming out of Leslie’s trailer who don’t seem to care if we run them over. Eventually, after a twelve-point turn that includes a pass over an ill-placed mound of dirt and branches, we get free.
As his car bumps and bottoms out along the winding gravel driveway, I close my eyes and try to get comfortable. It’s not easy. Every time Sam hits a pothole, my forehead and elbow smack into the glass.
“Here,” he says when we’re halfway down the driveway. “This should help.”
A warm, balled-up
Mine is not a world Sam belongs in.
Before we reach his car, I wriggle my hand free. I feel his searching gaze on my face, but I won’t look at him. I refuse to see any more disappointment directed my way.
Sam holds open the passenger door while I slide into the seat, then closes it carefully behind me. His car may look like a junkyard reject on the outside, but the floors are clean and the smooth, charcoal-colored seat covers beneath my fingers feel new.
I jerk my hand away. Charcoal-colored seat covers, charcoal-colored eyes. I need to forget those eyes.
He opens his door far less gingerly and folds his long body into the cramped seat. For several excruciating moments, we don’t do anything but sit and stare at the shadowy forest in front of his car. If this is how the entire one-hour drive is going to be, my disaster of a night just went from bad to worse.
“Do you mind if I sleep?” I ask. “It’s been a really long day.”
“Was it that bad?”
His disappointment makes me feel worse. Irritated, I wrap the drawstring of my—no, his —sweatshirt around my finger and mumble, “Not all of it. Some of it was…nice.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I chance a quick glance in his direction. The way he’s staring at me—like he’s five seconds away from dragging me into his arms—sends tingling zaps of light shooting through my body. There’s no way can I break eye contact when he looks at me like this.
He leans closer, one hand plucking my fingers from the noose I made of the drawstring while the other moves to cup my cheek. “I almost didn’t come tonight. For the first time ever, I almost didn’t come. But James called while you were at the hair place and said he might be bringing you, so…”
His gaze roams over my eyes, my lips, my cheeks. We’re going to kiss—I can feel how much he wants to straight down to my toes. And judging by the heat in his eyes, it’s not going to be as simple as what almost happened in the forest.
Despite the logical part of my brain screaming at me to run and hide in the trees—seriously, what does he see in me?—I melt into his touch, face upturned, waiting for the moment Sam knocks my world off its axis.
That moment never happens.
An explosion louder than a dozen shotguns blasts through the trees and nearly sends me scrambling into Sam’s lap. Cheering and laughter cuts through the dim ringing in my ears. A string of shrieked curses that sound very much like Leslie quickly follow.
Sam closes his eyes and lets out a frustrated cinnamon-tinted groan, but he doesn’t pull away. Even when another blast rocks the forest, he holds me close, a mere breath away from kissing, his gaze boring into mine.
That’s all my logical side needs to take over.
I recoil, removing Sam’s hand from my face before curling in on myself in the passenger seat. What the hell am I doing? James could have seen us. Even now, he might be in the woods watching.
“We should probably go,” Sam says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops all the way back in town heard those.”
Maneuvering a small sports car through trucks and SUVs wedged together like a twenty-car pileup is a nightmare. Sam curses a lot, mainly at the latecomers who boxed him in and the people streaming out of Leslie’s trailer who don’t seem to care if we run them over. Eventually, after a twelve-point turn that includes a pass over an ill-placed mound of dirt and branches, we get free.
As his car bumps and bottoms out along the winding gravel driveway, I close my eyes and try to get comfortable. It’s not easy. Every time Sam hits a pothole, my forehead and elbow smack into the glass.
“Here,” he says when we’re halfway down the driveway. “This should help.”
A warm, balled-up
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