10. Peyton #2
“Daltyn, please.” I look away, not wanting him to see how much pain I’m in.
He sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I stare out the window, refusing to look at him .
“For the way I acted.” He straightens. “We’ll get you something for the pain before we look at shoes.”
He closes the door and heads around the front of his SUV. I make the mistake of looking at him.
He looks sad. Full of regret.
My stupid heart squeezes, and I feel bad.
Don’t. He started this.
He climbs inside... but doesn’t start the vehicle.
Instead, he looks at me. “I really am sorry, Peyton. I just... had a rough night. I didn’t sleep much.”
My eyes lock with his, which is a mistake. He looks like a kid who didn’t get any Christmas presents under the tree.
I nod, but don’t say anything.
He stares at me for a moment longer before starting the vehicle.
Damn it. Why do I feel bad for him?
He pulls along the sidewalk in front of the store and throws his vehicle into park.
He’s out of the vehicle and opening my door before I can move.
My door opens, and he unfastens my seatbelt, then gently lifts me out. And for a moment, I forget about being mad and hurt.
I forget everything when his hands are on me.
“Wait for me,” he says when my flip flops hit the sidewalk. “I’m just going to park.”
I nod dumbly, clinging to my phone like it’s a lifeline.
He backs away, still looking at me, then turns and jumps inside his vehicle. He guns the engine, hurrying across the parking lot like he’s afraid I’m going to head inside without him.
I should, but I’m too stunned to move.
A few minutes later, he hurries toward me, a relieved smile on his face.
My heart beats faster. My pulse bangs against my neck.
His smile is devastating.
The kind that makes women’s panties explode. The kind that makes women stupid enough to think they could survive falling for him.
He wraps his arm around me. “Lean on me.”
Yes, sir.
Instead, I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
I use him like a crutch, letting him take most of my weight. He handles it like a pro, leading me to the shoes.
My eyes land on a cute pair of running shoes. I see the price tag below them and nearly have a damn stroke.
$180.
I can’t afford that.
“What size are you?” Daltyn asks.
“I can’t afford?—”
“You’re not. I am. Now, what size?”
“Seven,” I murmur.
A male salesclerk comes over as Daltyn gets me settled on the bench.
“Hey, Daltyn.” They do a complicated handshake. “What can I do for you?”
“Can we see this shoe in a seven?” He holds it up, then puts his hand on my shoulder. “I need something supportive for her. She has high arches, so I figured this sneaker would be good for that.”
I blink.
High arches?
I glance down at my foot. I do have high arches. But Daltyn noticed that? No one notices that.
The two men continue chatting before the sales rep disappears to get my shoe.
“High arch?”
He nods. “You do.”
“I know. I’m just... surprised. That you noticed.”
His blue eyes lock with mine. “Don’t be. I notice a lot about you.”
That remark shouldn’t warm my insides the way it does. It shouldn’t make my lower belly flutter. And it definitely shouldn’t make my panties damp.
The salesman returns with six boxes.
“What the hell?”
Daltyn grins. “Rob is bringing a seven and a seven and a half. Feet often swell in the afternoon or after exercise. We want to be sure you have the right fit.”
“Okay. So he should have two boxes. Why are there four more?”
He laughs. “They have a couple of colors.”
“Oh.”
The next ten minutes are spent trying on only the right sneaker, since the left one is swollen.
The two men dote on me, asking how the shoe feels, holding onto my arms as I stand.
Rob’s touch has no effect on me. Not like Daltyn. Just a small touch from him has me feeling off-balance.
From the way he’s smiling at me, he knows it.
I sink down onto the bench, relieved when it’s over. I don’t even argue when Daltyn buys me three pairs of shoes.
“Sweet pea! I thought that was you.” Gram’s voice booms through the store as she hurries toward me, a huge smile on her face.
“Oh, lord,” I murmur.
Daltyn curses.
“I’m so glad you came to live with the broody goalie,” she says as soon as she’s in front of me. She’s wearing cheetah print leggings, matching shoes, and a bright pink top.
“I’m not?—”
She claps her hands together. “So romantic. A hurricane ends up bringing two lost souls together.”
“Gram.” I glance at Daltyn, who looks pale.
“I just knew the two of you would end up together. You’re just the cutest couple.”
“We’re not?—”
“You’re going to have beautiful babies someday.”
Daltyn follows Rob to the front to pay like he’s running out of a burning building.
“Gram,” I hiss, grabbing her arm. “We’re not together.”
She stares at me like I’m crazy, then looks at my swollen ankle. “Oh, dear. What did you do?”
I sigh. “Long story.”
“It didn’t happen during sex, did it?” She glances in Daltyn’s direction, who is—thankfully—still at the front of the store.
“No, it didn’t,” I hiss, grabbing her arm.
“Good. Oh, there’s my Eddie. I need to go. I told him I’d only be a minute.”
I take a deep breath, feeling like I’ve just been through another hurricane.
Daltyn heads toward me, that guarded look on his face again. The one from this morning .
Lovely. Here we freaking go again.
One minute, he looks at me like I’m the center of his universe.
The next, he acts like letting me close is the worst mistake he’ll ever make.