Choosing Henley(24)

“Well that must have been an important phone call if you had to make it right this second while you’re in the middle of scolding me like some kind of child.” I glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Actually,” he says, chuckling at me, “it was very important.”

“You threw me up against a car. Gave me the third degree. Then placed a”—I make bunny ear quotations with my fingers—“’important call’”—I roll my eyes—“and now, you’re laughing at me. Seriously? You’re making me want to hurt you,” I clip out before shooting him my best bitch face. I mean, really? Come on, dude. Oh god, I just said dude.

“Hmmm,” he hums as he moves his face towards mine.

I turn my head because I am way too unstable in this moment to end up in some kind of make-out session and feel the stubble on his face graze my cheek before he whispers into my ear.

“I’m not sure I’d mind it all that much if you wanted to try and hurt me, Beatle,” he growls in an entirely different way than before, running his nose along the shell of my ear. “I could think of much more interesting things to do with you pressed up against this truck.” He nips my earlobe and I’m completely paralyzed by him again.

If I were wearing my panties and they weren’t already soaked from the onslaught of hot flashbacks I’ve been having all day, they sure as hell would be now. God damn, this man knows every button of mine to push, and he loves to push them.

“You’re a… Why don’t you…” are among some of the words I think I mumble incoherently. I can literally feel the fight leaving my body, being replaced by need and lust.

He tortures me a minute longer, teasing my ear before slowly pulling away and giving me one of his sexy cocky grins. The foot of space between our faces is helping some of the fog in my brain clear. When he starts chuckling again, I want to kick myself. The little fucker knows exactly what he does to me. Exactly how my body reacts to his.

“My Beatle.” He winks as he backs away from me. “Such a little pistol. I love it.”

“I’m not yours or a bug or a gun,” I groan, but he just ignores me, grabbing my hand and weaving us through the parked cars.

Once we reach his Jeep, I look around. “Where are they? Did they seriously just leave without me?” I huff in disbelief, scanning the lot for Greyson’s mammoth of a truck.

“I told them to go,” Jami says, fumbling with his key fob to unlock the Jeep.

I place my hand on my hip and stare at him. “What do you mean you told them to go? When did this happen? They were my ride home!” I’m trying hard not to flail my arms around like a bratty child.

“I told Greyson to take the others and go,” he explains nonchalantly, opening the passenger’s side door for me.

“That’s who you called? In the middle of”—I wave my hand towards the parked trucks we were at earlier—“whatever that macho bullshit was?” I question. I’m pretty sure my mouth is gaping at him.

“It’s not like I’m a serial killer or something, Beatle. Just get in or we’re going to be late.” He chuckles, cocking an eyebrow at me.

I know I’m being difficult and probably a bit of cow, I’ll admit, but I’m mostly pissed that Hannah left me here with him knowing everything that’s going on. I’m mentally deciding on the ways to punish my best friend next time I see her when his last words ring in my head.

“Wait. What do you mean we’re going to be late?” I ask. “Late for what?”

“For dinner.” He smiles, lifting me into the seat. “With your mom.” He shuts my door without giving me a chance to answer, leaving me slack-jawed like a complete loser while he walks around the front of the Jeep.

He turns over the vehicle and cranks up the heat. It always takes a few minutes for the windows to defrost before you can drive, so I jump on the opportunity.

“You mean I am,” I say, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“What?” He grins to himself as he plugs a cord into his iPhone.

“You mean I am going to be late for dinner with my mother,” I clarify.

“Yes, you are going to be late,” he replies quickly, and I sigh, closing my eyes while relaxing into the seat. “And I am too.”

My eyes spring back open, my head turning so fast that I think it’s going to pop off. “I’m sorry. What?” I must be hearing shit. Great. I can add ‘crazy’ to my list of smashing qualities.

“You have dinner plans with your mom. I want to spend time with you. So I’m coming with you.” He says this like it’s the most casual statement on the planet.