Chapter sixteen
In Carson’s father’s old red pickup truck, which smelled faintly of cigars, I pressed back into the seat and continued breathing deeply, hands clasped against my stomach. My pulse had finally started to slow down. “If I had known what was going on, I would’ve come inside sooner,” Carson said quietly.
I swallowed. “It’s not your... your problem, and it’s okay.” “It shouldn’t be your problem, and it’s not okay.” He reached over, gently pulling my hands free. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine.” I let out a shaky breath. “I think I was having a
panic attack. I thought I heard...”
“Heard what?” His hand smoothed over mine, then folded
over it.
When he was touching me like that, I’d probably admit just
about anything. I turned my head toward him. A fine current of
electricity shimmed between us. “I thought someone asked me if I’d
killed Cassie, but I was ... hearing things.” Forcing a weak laugh, I looked out the window. Kids streamed out the barn doors. Del
was among them. “Or maybe some of them do think I killed her.” “They don’t think that.”
I shot him a dull look. “It’s not like I’m a fan favorite here—
then or now.”
His lips twitched. “Well, if they do think it, then they’re
idiots.” He let go of my hand and started the truck. It rumbled
to life. “So, want me to take you home? Or do you want me to
go get Scott for you?”
“Actually, do you have plans? I was wondering if you’d like
to do something with me today.”
He arched a brow. “The answer is yes and always, probably
for a very long time, too.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “But
unless you’ve kicked Del the Dick to the curb, I’m going to have
to refuse.”
My cheeks burned, and my stomach warmed at his teasing.
“Um, that’s not what I’m asking, but good to know.” “Hmm. It wasn’t?” Carson’s lips spread into a half grin. “So
what were you asking?”
Images of us together occupied my mind for a couple more
seconds. “I was wondering if you would take me up to the cliff.” “I can do that.” Carson shifted the gears. His hand brushed
along my thigh, and I jerked at the contact. “But you probably
want to change first.”
The images were still there, in a lot more detail than before.
Us kissing. Touching. Talking.
Carson slid me a look. A knowing, smug grin split his lips.
“Sam.”
I blinked. “Change of clothes. Got it.”
He chuckled as he shifted gears again, grazing my leg with
the side of his hand. I doubted it was accidental. Then he threw
his arm over the back of my seat and turned his head toward me.
Because I was staring at him, the movement put us within kissing distance. My heart leaped into my throat. For a moment, I
thought he was going to say “screw the good-guy thing” and go
for it. A second later I realized he was backing up.
Awkward.
Carson met my eyes and winked. I let out the breath I was
holding, so aware of him that I felt as if I’d climb out of my skin
at any second. And he knew it. That smug half grin was on his
face the whole way to my house.
I snuck in and quickly changed into hiking-appropriate
clothing. The house seemed empty, but I didn’t stick around to
find out, doubtful that either of my parents would’ve been down
with me hanging out with Carson.
We stopped at his house, and he changed out of his dress
clothes. Returning in under two minutes, he’d thrown on a pair
of jeans and a light sweater.
The trip to the state forest was bumpy. The truck rocked,
and my phone slipped out of my fingers, falling to the floorboard.
Reaching down, my hand knocked into something soft, and I
grabbed it with my phone.