Chapter 22
HESTON
It only takes a minute for the door to creak open. I’m leaning my back against the wall outside the bar with one leg bent. Music and laughter float out until the sound is cut off by the door slamming closed again.
I can tell by the slight shuffle of her footsteps that she’s had more than a drink or two tonight. The unlit cigarette rolls between my fingers as she stops next to me.
“You clean up alright,” she suggests.
I smirk and puff a small laugh out of my nose. I may have changed into fresh jeans and a dark gray t-shirt, but I’d hardly categorize myself as “cleaned up” with the same dirty hat and boots on that I wore all day.
She sure is, though. Her light pink top shows every bit of her shoulders and collarbone.
It hugs her waist almost as much as the jeans she’s wearing.
They stretch over the curve of her hips and flare out a little at the bottom.
I don’t know much about makeup, but I can tell she swiped on a little extra mascara and blush, too.
I like that her freckles still peek through.
Before I lower my gaze to her full lips, I look down at my hand again.
The cigarette breaks in half. Little shavings of tobacco flutter to the concrete, and I lean over to push the two halves through the hole at the top of the free-standing ashtray.
“Don’t stop on my account.”
“I’ll only stop on your account,” I admit with a quirked brow.
It’s not freezing out tonight, but it sure isn’t warm either. Hattie hugs her arms around her middle, and I regret not tossing on a hoodie that I could give her right now.
We should probably go inside where the breeze won’t make her shiver. I want to get out of this place, though. I’m not in the mood for the bar scene, and the only reason I came with the rest of the guys was to make sure she made it home okay.
Come to think of it, the only reason any of us came here was to make sure she was alright.
“You look pretty.”
“Good, because I was hoping I didn’t look as drunk and tired as I feel,” she quips back with a giggle.
I smirk. “You’re drunk?”
“I was,” she confesses. “Kind of. But, it’s wearing off a little.”
“You wanna go sit in my truck or something?”
She shakes her head.
“Want me to take you home?”
Again, she shakes her head, slower this time.
“You could have come inside,” she suggests.
“Didn’t want to ruin your night.”
She drops her arms down to her sides and steps closer to me. “Well, it wouldn’t have ruined my night if you had walked in and asked me to dance or something instead of brooding in the corner like you always do. Not any more than you standing out here by yourself and smoking would have.”
“I wasn’t smoking,” I defend myself. “I was just thinking about smoking.”
“That’s my fault, I suppose.”
I slowly push off the wall to stand up straight. “Not your fault,” I argue.
The front of my shirt is caught behind my belt buckle, and she reaches out her hand to fix it. Rather than pulling her arm back, she lightly skims her fingertips across my belt line.
I can’t help it. A hum of static nearly numbs my hand as I reach up, wrap my fingers around her wrist, and lower it back to her side to make her stop. The contact is brutally charged, and I wish I’d thought it through before doing it.
I want to grip her other wrist, too. Vexation pushes me to let her go instead. I shove my hands in my pockets where they belong.
Hattie wasn’t a fan of that choice, apparently. She lifts her hands, digging her fingers into my biceps, and pushing me until my back hits the wall. I clench my jaw and stare down at her as she narrows her eyes at me.
“I’m trying to have a fun night, for once. Quit being such a grump.”
“I’m not grumpy,” I lie.
She yanks her hands away, and I screw my eyes shut while rubbing my forehead. She’s usually a pretty happy drunk, so I’m surprised she’s as sassy as ever right now.
While I’m thinking of the right thing to say, she whirls away and stomps toward the door. I guess every lesson I fail to learn will repeat itself until I do. Maybe I’m finally catching on, because I make a split-second decision to not let her walk away from me this time.
I press my lips together and reach for her, hooking my index finger around the middle belt loop at the back of her jeans.
She’s determined to keep her forward motion at first, but I yank her back easily, bringing her to the exact spot she was in before.
Her back bumps into me with a huff as she comes to a stop.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” I grit out.
Hattie peers up at me over her shoulder and spits back right away. “I do. I want to fight.” She spins to face me, and her eyes lock with mine as she channels every bit of her emotions into her words.
“I want to fight. I want to be so affected, so consumed, that it knocks the air out of me. Furious and messy and alive. I want something I burn for.” Her voice cracks as she shakes her head.
“Something I can’t stand to lose. And maybe I’m a fool because I know it might hurt.
But I’d go down in flames with a love like that before living the rest of my life feeling nothing at all with someone else. ”
Her honesty lands like a brand on wet skin. It sizzles all the way through my flesh until I feel every syllable from her confession in my bones.
“You shouldn’t want something that might hurt you,” I say in a low voice.
She whispers despite the severity in her glare. “Too late.”
I don’t think. My hands push through the hair on either side of her head, and I curl my fingers in a strong grip.
It’s probably too rough, but she sucks in a breath and sways forward to press the front of her body against mine.
I feel her fingers dance over my sides until she’s clutching me with just as much desperate strength as I am her.
My lips brush over her mouth. Out of habit, I rack my brain in search of something to say, but I come up short. There are no more words for what I need to tell her. Even if there were . . . I’m sick of fucking talking.
So I kiss her.
Maybe it’s the alcohol still rushing through her veins. Maybe she’s been craving this as much as I have. Either way, a whimper escapes her throat. She fists my shirt and rises to her tiptoes to press her lips against mine as hard as she ever has.
The level of greedy possession I feel after less than five seconds of kissing her again is immeasurable. Maybe I should try to tone it down, but I don’t shrink away from it. I let it wash over me.
I need more.
My hands glide down her neck. Her mouth opens, begging for my tongue as I squeeze the sides of her throat. I groan from the taste. My hands make their way down again, this time over her back, before latching onto the curve of her ass.
It still isn’t enough.
I bend to grip the backs of her thighs and lift her. Before she can even wrap her legs around my waist, I spin us around and pin her against the wall.
Too rough. Slow down, I chastise myself.
“Don’t stop,” Hattie whispers breathlessly against my mouth.
I tilt my head, slip my tongue through her lips, and dig my fingers into her flesh—one still on her thigh, and the other just below her ribs.
I’m gone. Out of my mind. Completely content to devour her right here and now, until she rolls her hips with a moan.
She’s in the perfect position for my hard length to grind right into her center.
White spots burst behind my lids.
My chest is heaving with ragged breaths.
Her legs squeeze tight around my waist, and I abruptly pull away.
She’s panting with her arms around my neck as I scan over her flushed cheeks. If she were sober, I may not have stopped. If she weren’t engaged to someone else, my stomach wouldn’t feel like it was supporting the guilty weight of a ten-pound dumbbell.
I blink several times. An apology is on the tip of my tongue. The urge to admit that I was out of line is overwhelming. But she feels so right in my arms. My arms. How could I apologize for this?
Despite the war going on in my head, I don’t push her away when Hattie slowly leans forward and kisses the corner of my mouth. My eyes fall closed, I touch my forehead to hers, and she drifts her lips softly over mine with two more languid kisses.
“Heston,” she whispers. “Can you take me home now?”
Without answering, I set her down and take her hand. Once we get to my truck, she heads straight for the passenger side door. For the second time in one night, I hook my finger through the belt loop at the back of her jeans and pull her back.
“Good grief,” she says, stumbling back against my chest. “Remind me to never wear jeans around you again.”
I wrap one hand around her hip and reach for the door handle with the other. When I still haven’t responded after rounding the truck and sliding into the driver’s seat, she eyes me curiously.
“I didn’t pay my tab,” she says.
I place a hand on the back of her seat to look out the window and back out of the parking spot. “Gage will take care of it.”
“Okay,” she says quietly.
If she feels even half as shaken up as I do right now, I bet her skin is tingling from head to toe. Adrenaline is still coursing through my veins. It’s almost distracting enough for me to ignore the frustration knocking furiously against my skull.
The drive across town is a short one. It only takes a few minutes to make our way down Main Street, turn into her neighborhood, and park at the curb in front of her house. The silence is deafening as we both sit for a minute.
“You stopped because I’ve been drinking.”
“I didn’t want to,” I say honestly.
She nods and removes her seatbelt. “I need to lie down.”
“Stay there.”
I step out, round the front of the truck, and open her door. Her eyes are half-closed, and instead of jumping out, she stands on the running board and holds her arms out. I smirk and wrap an arm around her waist so she can latch onto the front of my body.
The passenger door slams, and I turn to carry her toward the door.
It feels like a dream. Her body clings to me, and my pulse races each time her breath dances across the skin on my neck.
I’m tempted to go inside with her so I can feel her do that all night.
Lust has nothing to do with it. I’m in love with this woman.
Every fiber of my being wants to hold her until she falls asleep.
Reluctantly, I slide her down my front until the bottom of her boots hit the welcome mat. She pulls a small ring with two keys on it from her front pocket, but doesn’t reach for the doorknob yet.
“Kiss me if I’m wrong, but I feel like you’re going to leave me here and freak out over what just happened.”
I step forward and slowly smooth my hand over her jaw until I’m cupping the side of her face. The kiss is every bit as good as the last one, but sweeter this time. Less Urgent. I savor it as long as I can before easing back to look at her.
“I’m not going to freak out. I’m going to take a cold fucking shower and force myself to sleep until tomorrow when you’re chugging water instead of tequila.”
She scrunches her nose. “How did you know it was tequila?”
“My tongue’s been in your mouth,” I remind her.
“Oh yeah.” She giggles and lifts a hand to wrap her fingers around my wrist.
I chuckle despite worrying that she’s going to be violently hungover in the morning. Rather than pulling me down for another kiss, she leans into my chest, and I hold her against me with one hand behind her head and the other on her lower back.
My eyes close.
Our breathing syncs, and thousands of pushed-down memories flood my mind.
Every time she acted offended when she accidentally pushed on a pull door.
The hoarder drawer in her dresser, full of years-old receipts, because what if she might need them someday?
All the times she refused to use an umbrella. “Life is nothing without holding hands, running through a rain shower, and giggling through the drops sliding down your face when you finally find cover,” she’d say.
The way she pauses before taking a bite when we’re out to dinner, because nothing could possibly be more important than gauging my reaction to find out if I love or hate what I ordered.
The way she holds her arms out and lets her hair blow in the wind when she rides across the prairie on her horse.
“I missed you,” I say, fighting the tremble in my throat.
She squeezes me tighter. “Will you come over tomorrow? After I get off work?”
“Yeah. I’ll come over.”
“Okay,” she whispers, gently pulling away. She unlocks her front door and pushes it open, but slips into my arms one more time before walking inside. “I missed you, too.”