Chapter 8
Tabitha
Why was I so attracted to him? Probably the booze. Maybe because I’d shared very personal details with him, been vulnerable with him, and he’d reacted sensitively but also gratifyingly pissed off on my behalf. Whatever the reason, he’d be up for a little fooling around—of course he would.
I threw my torso across the console.
Pressing against him, I squeezed his thigh. Hard and bulging and muscular, it promised a long, sustained night. My lips met his, and an instant zing ran through me.
But he froze.
Froze?
Confused, I pressed my lips harder against his.
He pulled away and touched my wrist. His fingers were big and callused, and scraped with heat over my skin as he plucked my hand off his leg.
What was happening?
I took a good, long look at his face. His furious and appalled face.
Instant humiliation bolted through me.
OhGodOhGodOhGod.
“What are you doing?” His expression was hard, his brown eyes dark with anger.
“You-you don’t want to?” Every organ I possessed seemed to sink to my toes. I’d never been so embarrassed.
“No. You’ve had a lot of drink. I’m just giving you a ride home, that’s all. I would never—” He clamped his mouth shut.
I sobered up with every second his eyes held mine.
“What were you going to say?” I asked. “You would never with me?”
“That’s not—” he huffed out. “Let’s just get you inside.”
I stared straight ahead, immobilized as he climbed out and rounded the front to my side.
I swear, everything in my life was a mess.
Next, Mum and Dad’s old house would crumble, defy the decades she’d stood there cracking but not giving up, allowing all who lived in her to slap yet more money and time and energy into her.
To finally disintegrate. And bury me with her.
My body blushed and burned, mortification charring all my insides. How could I ever face my life again?
Tim opened my door, held out a hand to help me down, and checked the house. “Why hasn’t the entry lightbulb been changed?” He sighed. “Be careful walking across the lawn.”
I thought about all the stuff my parents hadn’t done. “Stop criticizing the place,” I mumbled. Ignoring his hand, I tumbled out onto unsteady feet.
I strode toward the front door, the path completely grown over, and tripped on a rake that had probably been there for decades.
A cry and a rustle signaled that Tim had started after me.
“I’m fine.” I waved my hand back at him without turning around. “Good night.”