Now, eight minutes past eleven, I wonder if he didn’t stay up pondering the same questions, coming to the same realizations . . . leaving me sitting here this morning for nothing.
A knock sounds against the door and my heart leaps with the doorbell. I’m halfway there before I have to go back to the sofa, swipe up my purse, and then almost jog down the foyer again.
Taking a deep breath, I pause and try to remember the little positive mantra Mallory teaches at yoga. But after a few seconds of nothing, I can’t resist seeing him any longer and yank open the door.
A crisp blue and white striped shirt covers his chest, a pair of khakis I didn’t know he owned span his long, lean legs. His hair is styled to the side like he only does when he takes me out to dinner. He pulls his sunglasses off and I see a little puffiness beneath his blue orbs reminiscent of mine.
“Hey,” I say, forcing a swallow.
“Hi.” His eyes drift easily down my yellow dress, pausing at my espadrille sandals, before roaming back up my body again. “You ready?”
“Yeah. Let me lock up.”
He waits patiently while I fiddle with the locks and I hold my breath as I turn around. Any other day, my hand would find his as we make our way down the sidewalk. Today, his palm finds the small of my back and guides me towards his Camaro instead.
His hand is heavy against the thin fabric of my dress. I can smell his body wash, a clean, cedar scent lingering under the spice of his cologne. Breathing it in, I let it dawdle on my senses, giving me the comfort I’ve craved for hours.
Without a word, he pops open the passenger door and watches me climb inside. He closes it softly before moving around the front of the car and slipping in the seat beside me.
Our gazes meet somewhere over the console and a million things are said, but none of them involve words spoken.
The engine roars to life, the tires semi-squealing as he moves us out into the street of my neighborhood, through the gates, and out onto the main road.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I admit as we wait at a stoplight. Turning to look at him, he’s watching me with a furrowed brow.
“I told you I would.”
“I know. I just thought . . .”
“At least you’re thinking now. That’s a plus.” He shifts into first gear and charges the car forward. It zips through traffic and hits another red light. “I’m really trying to not be mad about this. I’m trying to be logical.”
“I appreciate that.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, but it’s not quite a smile. “I know your intentions were good.”
“Dom, I didn’t mean to cause a problem with this. I—”
I’m silenced by the bark of the tires and a lurching of the car as we propel forward. My heart thumping in my chest, my back is pressed into the leather as we speed down the next block to the next light.
“Have you told Ford about the loan?” he asks, looking forward.
“No.”
He rolls his thick, muscled neck around his shoulders. “All right then.” He accelerates once more and we take a sharp right.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Are you and Nate fighting?”
His jaw tenses, but he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “No. I’ve decided you two are adults. I’ll let you handle your own business.”
It can’t be that easy. My stomach drops. “Dom?”
“What?”
“You know what,” I sigh, “I’ve worried about this all night. Tell me you two aren’t into it because of me.”
“Not because of you, sweetheart. Because he didn’t have the respect for either of us.
I grab the door handle as he gasses it again, the car roaring beneath me, and then whips a quick left. “Ford is bringing Lincoln,” I tell him.
“Great.”
“I know Nate didn’t really hit it off with Lincoln, but he’s not a bad guy,” I insist. “He’s funny and loves sports and really is a big kid. I think you’d like him if you gave him a chance.”
“I bet I’ll love him,” he says, the sarcasm unmistakable. “And two against one should be a blast.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s just coming because they are going golfing afterwards right near the restaurant. This isn’t a big conspiracy or something.”
“Tell you the truth,” he says, piloting the Camaro into the parking lot, “I’m fairly certain I could take the both of them. I’m not really worried.”
“Hey, now,” I say, “my brothers are no joke! Ford is a legit badass and Lincoln was a professional baseball player.”
“They golf, Cam.” He flips off the ignition and looks at me. A huge, shaky sigh of relief pushes past my lips as I see the hint of playfulness in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure golfing removes any badges of bad-assery they may have.”
“Whatever you say,” I grin. “But don’t get Ford on the ground. I’ve seen him in action.”
“I’m sure,” he teases.
“Hey, just offering you a little insight. Take it or leave it.”
When he doesn’t answer, I look at him. Studying his profile, I can’t believe how good-looking he is. Even though I’ve seen him a thousand times, it catches me off-guard.
His skin is the perfect tan, the scruff on his cheeks makes my fingers itch to touch it. There’s a little bend in his nose. He says it’s from a right hand in a boxing match when he was a teenager. On anyone else, it would look like it needs fixed. On him, it’s sexy.
He takes a breath, holds it, and looks at me. Sucking in a breath of my own, I give him a smile—a real one.
“There we go,” he says, twisting his lips to hide a smile.
“What?”
“I’ve missed that smile.” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. “You look really pretty today. I don’t think I told you that.”
“You didn’t. You were too busy being mad at me.”
That does it. He grins at me, the sexy one that melts me from the inside out.
“Are you still mad at me?”
“Yes,” he says instantly, the smile dropping from his cheeks. “I don’t like you risking yourself. Not for Nate, not for Ryder, not for anyone. And I’m pretty pissed off no one thought I should know about this.”
“Okay, you’re mad. What does that mean?” I ask, the shakiness in my voice back.
“I don’t know,” he says sadly. “Let’s get through this lunch before we try to hash that out.”
He hops out of the car and opens my door before I can get my buckle off. Swinging it open and offering me a hand, he pulls me to my feet. We stand only inches away, both fighting our natural inclination to kiss or hug or make contact of some kind.
“You look really nice today,” I tell him. “If you weren’t mad at me, I might’ve said you looked super sexy in khakis, but you are mad and I don’t want to go thinking those kind of thoughts about you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it might be a lonely night tonight.”
We turn towards the door, him a step behind me. “You were right about one thing, Cam.”
“What’s that?”
He steps around me and opens the door to Hillary’s House, his brows tugged together. “It may be a lonely night.”