She lifted her head. “Sorry, what?”
“I said it’s a shame Gabriel won’t be there for dinner this weekend. I would have liked to see you two rekindle the spark.”
“Gabe and I didn’t have much of a spark,” she admitted.
Her mom waved a dismissive hand. “Successful marriages have been built on less. Now, hurry inside to pick up my prescription so we can make our salon appoint—” Miranda squeaked as someone bumped into her.
“Sorry about that, ma’am. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Every muscle in Lexie’s body went rigid.
She shifted her head and her eyes collided with Cooper’s.
“You should learn to be more careful,” Miranda said in a haughty tone.
Cooper offered a humble nod, never taking his gaze off Lexie. “Like I said, I apologize.”
Lexie turned into a mute as she stared at Cooper. He looked like his usual bad boy self—tight black T-shirt, worn jeans, scuffed up boots. It was cold out, so he’d at least bothered to wear a coat, only he’d chosen a black leather jacket that molded to his broad shoulders. Black hair was scruffy as usual, strong jaw covered with perpetual stubble. He was sex and masculinity wrapped up in one rough-and-tough package, and her pulse sped up from his nearness, her breasts tingling beneath her red silk shirt.
To make matters worse, he was staring at her too. Expectant. Waiting for her to acknowledge him.
Frustration bubbled in her stomach. She couldn’t let on that they knew each other, not in front of her judgmental mother, who was glaring at Cooper like he’d ruined her entire day by jostling her delicate frame.
So, choking down a monstrous ball of shame and regret, Lexie wrenched her gaze from him and glanced at her mother. “I’ll run in and get that prescription.”
As she hurried into the drugstore, she caught the defeated sag of Cooper’s shoulders as he slunk away.
Chapter Seven
Jake woke up in a cold sweat. Heart pounding so hard he thought his ribs would crack. Palms cold and tingling. The acrid smell of smoke burned his nose, so strong he had to suck in a few breaths to make sure the damn bedroom wasn’t on fire.
Just a dream.
Breathing hard, he struggled to sit up, eliciting an agitated moan from Bree, who was snuggled up beside him.
“You okay?” she murmured sleepily.
“I’m fine,” he snapped. “Go back to sleep.”
The bedcovers rustled as she rolled over onto her back. “Did you have a nightmare?”
Jake spoke through clenched teeth. “Yeah.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
Before she could press, he slid out from under the covers and staggered to his feet. The alarm clock on the night table read 7:45 AM, but he was too wired up to stay in bed. Fuck. That dream had been too damn vivid. He could still smell the smoke. The blood.
“Go back to sleep,” he said again, avoiding the big blue eyes that were watching him with unease. “I’m going for a run.”
The covers shifted again and he heard her heavy sigh as she got comfortable. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, and suddenly he wished to hell he hadn’t insisted she spend the night. He should’ve known the nightmare would come. It had been making an unwelcome appearance every night for the past two months.
He put on a pair of long shorts and a ratty old T-shirt, then rolled socks onto his feet, making a conscious effort to avert his eyes. Guilt trickled through him as he heard Bree’s soft breathing, as he felt her gaze boring into him. He fought the urge to approach the bed and kiss her good morning, stroke her hair or some shit. With the way his body was humming from the anger and frustration sizzling in his blood, he feared he wouldn’t be gentle if he touched her.
Jake was halfway to the bathroom door when she spoke.
“That’s why.”
He turned, wariness flickering inside him. “What?”
“You looked confused yesterday when I shot down your dinner idea.” Her voice was soft, drowsy, but her eyes were alert as they pierced into his face. “But this, right now, is why I did.”
He stared at her in confusion.
“You don’t talk to me, Jake. You never have.”
Before he could question that enigmatic remark, she rolled over on her side and pulled the comforter up to her neck, effectively shutting him out.
Disconcerted as hell, he entered the washroom, where he hit the head and washed up. A few minutes later he left the dark bedroom and headed downstairs.
After shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers, he stepped outside and breathed in the cold morning air. The sky was overcast, a dismal gray sight made worse by the thick, black clouds creeping in from the west. Weather matched his mood, at least.
Jake took off running, sprinting toward the trees lining the edge of Nate’s property. Twigs cracked beneath his sneakers as he moved through the quiet woods. His ragged breaths came out white in the frigid air.
You don’t talk to me, Jake.
Well, duh. He hardly talked to anyone.