Chapter 1 #2
Crew huffs. “We’ll talk later.” Then he slams the door, and the limo drives away.
Once the glow of the limo’s taillights is about fifty yards down the road, I stop. I take a deep breath and look up at the sky. It’s too overcast and too close to the city for any stars to dot the darkness. I let out a long, weary sigh.
What am I going to do?
I take another deep breath, square my shoulders, and point my eyes down the long, lonesome Texas road. Whatever I do next, I need to get home first.
Home. I live with Crew. I can’t go there.
I have my purse on my shoulder. That’s good. With the state of my mind, I could have easily forgotten it in the limo.
I can text my sister, Hallie, and ask to stay with her tonight. Then I can get an Uber so I don’t have to spend heaven knows how long walking to the city.
I’ll do both of those things soon. Right now, I want to clear my head a bit more, and the warm nighttime Austin air might help.
I hobble forward, one heel intact, one broken and dragging against the asphalt with each step. It’s uncomfortable as hell, but there’s not enough light to see the surface of the roadside, and there are too many things I don’t want to step on to go barefoot.
Yellow headlights flash in front of me. A car coming from the city. As they grow, the car slows down, likely taking note of me. When it gets closer, I realize it’s a pickup truck. I ignore it, but when it passes, it makes a U-turn and pulls up beside me.
Ugh. I really want to be alone right now, even if it is dangerous and painful to walk down the side of the road with my shoes the way they are. I just want to clear my head until I feel ready to order an Uber.
I look at the truck. It’s a well-cared-for vintage Ford. Two-toned paint job, forest green on top, cream on the bottom, with brown trim in between. I’m not a car girl, but it’s an attractive piece of machinery.
The passenger-side door pushes open, and I look up at the driver leaning over the old bench-style seating.
My stomach tilts.
The driver’s an attractive piece of machinery himself—but I know him well enough to attest that his physical features are the only things he deserves compliments on.
Curly dark hair that looks sinfully soft, paired with prickly stubble covering a sharp jaw and strong cheekbones. Plush lips. Thick forearms on display thanks to the rolled-up sleeves of a checkered shirt. Arrestingly deep ochre eyes—and plenty of disapproval written in them.
Of all the people to see me at the lowest point of my life, it just has to be the grumpy, rude hockey player I hated in college, doesn’t it?
“Get in,” he says.
My brow lowers at the starting left-winger of the Austin Alligators hockey team.
He’s haughty and entitled as ever. He has no idea why I’m out here right now, but the look in his eyes and the tone in his voice both drip with judgment, like he takes it as a given that I’m in this predicament because I screwed up somehow, and he has to rescue me at his own inconvenience.
“Is this your new hobby, Nash? Cruising around at night looking for women to lure into your truck?”
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that the small tick at the edge of his mouth was him fighting back a smile.
“You obviously need a ride into the city, and as much as I’d love to ignore you and keep driving past, I’d feel guilty. Get in.”
“A killjoy with a stick up his ass like you should know that it’s wrong to get into a stranger’s car.”
There’s that tick again. It’s probably a scowl he’s trying to fight. Not that he’s ever had an issue with wearing a scowl around me before.
“I’m not a stranger. We were neighbors for two years. Apparently long enough for you to get in the habit of speculating about the things I do with my ass.”
Now it’s my mouth that’s twitching to fight back a smile.
Almost smiling just minutes after I’ve found out my fiancé is cheating on me.
And because of something Nash Miller said.
I genuinely don’t know how this night could get any crazier.
I’m usually the kind of girl down to find out just how crazy any night can get, but this is getting scary even for me.
He’s got me dead to rights when it comes to thinking about his ass more than I should, though. Especially for an engaged woman.
Sadness twists in my chest again.
“Come on,” he says gruffly. “The next person who pulls over might be a serial killer.”
“The first person who pulled over might be a serial killer,” I quip back. “Your anal retentiveness kind of fits the profile.”
He quirks a dark eyebrow. “Another reference to my ass. It must have made an impression.”
Unbidden, a memory sneaks into my mind, of me glancing out the window back when we lived next to each other off campus in college, and getting a view of his backside while he walked down the street wearing a particularly snug pair of jeans.
Paired with the low rumble of his voice, thick and raspy like the sound of an old truck crunching to a stop on a gravel driveway, it sends a chill gliding up my back in spite of the muggy Texas heat.
Nash’s amber eyes drop down to my feet, dimly illuminated by the light in his cabin that turned on when he opened the door. “Your feet are already getting dirty.”
I glance down to see that he’s right. These shoes weren’t made for these conditions, that’s for sure.
“What the hell happened to your shoe anyway?” he asks.
“It’s a long story.”
He rolls his eyes. “Figures.”
I glare at him. If he knew I was in this situation because I just saw irrefutable proof that my fiancé has been having an affair for who knows how long … well, he’d probably still be acting like a jerk. This is Nash Miller we’re talking about.
He makes an annoyed noise in his throat. “How much longer are you going to make me idle my truck? It’s bad for the environment, you know.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. When they settle, they lock with Nash’s. For just a moment, his hard gaze softens. Could that be a trace of concern I detect? Maybe I’m imagining it, but it’s enough to make the breath woosh out of my chest with a defeated sigh.
“Fine,” I answer.
Then, I do the very last thing I expected to do when I left home today. I hop into Nash Miller’s truck.