Chapter 20
“You hungry?” she asks.
I half-shrug my shoulders and do the weird head tilt thing you do when you’re agreeing with someone. She responds with a satisfied smile and says, “Good, we’re going to Maverick’s.” Then she skips around the front of my ute and collapses into the passenger seat.
The drive over to Fires Creek doesn’t take long, but I reckon Annabeth sung every song that played over the radio.
Fuck, that girl has pipes. Her voice is both deep and melodic, I can’t explain it.
I could listen to her sing for the rest of my life.
Just as she belts the final verse of Wagon Wheel by Darius Rucker, we pull into the car park of the diner.
Annabeth leans in, tilts her hat back, and plants a gentle kiss on my cheek, before kicking open the door, and then she’s gone.
Heat rises across the spot her lips touched, and I find myself cursing my dick for twitching at the thought of those damn lips.
I linger in my seat for a moment, watching her whirl around and scowl at me, as if I’m taking too long.
Her bubblegum hair falls beneath her hat in loose waves against her plump cheeks, her heart-shaped face completely free of makeup.
I can see the freckles scattered across her nose from here.
She’s got a beat-up, oversized Motley Crüe T-shirt on, tied into a knot above her pierced bellybutton.
Frayed cut-off denim shorts hug every inch of her curves so perfectly.
Her thighs slightly bulge from beneath the figure-hugging denim – what is it about this woman and her thigh-eating shorts?
She’s killing me. I mean it. All I can focus on now is how good it would feel to hike those legs over my shoulders and suffocate between them.
I notice trails of ink rolling up to her hip, peeking out from the studded belt looped through her waistband.
I’ll be damned if I don’t want to unbuckle that damn belt, rip those shorts right off her body, and trace every inch of whatever that tattoo is with my tongue. Jesus fuck, Dallas. Knock it off.
I trail my eyes further down her legs until they meet the leather of her well-worn Ariats.
Scuff marks line the dark brown boots, and there’s a trace of half-washed off mud on the heels with dust coating the toe.
They’re different boots than the ones she wore last night.
For some reason, I decide at that moment that I’m going to start playing a game to tally the pairs of boots she owns.
“Oi, Cowboy, you comin’?” she asks, folding her arms across her ample chest. Her brow creases and she flashes me a fake pissed-off look. She’s fucking teasing me.
With a dramatic eyeroll I shake my head, crank the door open, and peel myself out of my seat.
As I rise to stand, towering over her, I see the corners of her plump lips creep into a devilish smile.
Mission accomplished. I kick the door shut with the heel of my boot and close the gap between us, offering my elbow to her and gesturing for her to loop her arm with mine.
“Only if you behave yourself,” I tell her.
She visibly squirms so briefly I can almost guarantee she thinks I didn’t notice.
But I did. I know that line hit a nerve, because goose-flesh lines her skin as she links her arm into the crook of my elbow.
An instant rush of heat ripples through my body at her delicate touch.
Get your shit together, Dallas. I have to mentally will my dick to stay put.
“Thought you’d never ask,” she replies with a wink.
And just like that, here I am – seemingly out of fucking nowhere – walking into Maverick’s with a beautiful woman on my arm. Never mind that she’s half my age, or that she’s my daughter's music teacher, or that I haven’t so much as looked at a woman since Sam. Nah, Dallas, this is a great idea.
Well, here goes nothin’, I guess…