Hold On(90)

He looked from her shoes to her face.

“You look phenomenal, baby.”

Her body jolted so badly, that shit was visible, her head going with it, her hair swaying with the movement.

Then she seemed stuck, frozen, staring at him like she’d never seen him or any breathing male in her life.

When she stayed like that, it was his turn to call, “Cher?”

She seemed to force herself out of her stupor, and the instant she did, she was on the move.

Snatching up some wrap from her chair, she marched woodenly to the door, announcing tersely, “We gotta go.”

She was out the door before he could say a word, and when he made it to that space, he saw her standing on the stoop, holding her storm door open for him, looking like she was fighting against tapping her toe.

He moved out, closing the front door behind him, and she charged in, shoving up against him to get in the space, key up to lock it.

Fuck, she also smelled good.

Real good.

“Cher,” he said quietly.

“Let’s go,” she demanded, turning, skirting him, and hauling her ass down the walk before he could grab her hand, seeing as he had to use it to catch the storm door she’d moved out of because it was about to knock him off the stoop.

She made it to his truck well before him and Garrett decided to wait to unlock it until he was close.

He wasn’t real big on how she stared at the door, not looking to him, as he stopped at her.

He hit the locks and she immediately went for the door.

His hand shot out to cover hers.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Her gaze didn’t leave his hand.

“Everything okay, Cher?” he repeated.

She looked up at him. “It’s cold. You gonna let me inside?”

It was cold and he had a dick, so it was utterly impossible not to let his eyes fall to her tits to see that evidence straining her dress.

Fuck.

“Garrett,” she prompted testily.

His hand over hers, he jerked open the door.

She pulled her hand away and climbed up.

After he closed the door on her, he drew in a heavy breath, rounded the hood, and angled in beside her, not a big fan of how this date was starting.

He’d clearly done something to piss her off. He had no clue what it was, but he reckoned she’d make it up if it didn’t exist.

This told him the walls were going back up.

And this didn’t make him happy.

More, he couldn’t do the work he needed to do to knock them back down in a fancy-ass restaurant where he was gonna blow at least two hundred dollars not enjoying it and not being able to fully enjoy Cher in that fucking dress.

He started the truck and was just edging it from the curb, about to make the effort to clear the air on a drive that was not long but also wasn’t short, in order that he might be able to salvage dinner and definitely be able to salvage the plans he had after dinner with her and her shoes.

She got there before him.

“Okay, I’m just gonna say this straight out, right now, so if you wanna turn around and drop my ass back at my house, you can do that without wastin’ too much gas,” she decreed into the cab. “It wasn’t me who texted you that apology. It was, but I typed it in and didn’t send it. Ethan got in my phone, not bein’ a little shit, he just does that ’cause he doesn’t have his own phone and anyway, I let him do it. He did it this time because he saw a text from his gramma. My guess is, he saw my unsent text to you and he likes you. He thinks you’re gonna make me happy. He worries about me bein’ alone, especially with him growin’ up, so that’s gonna happen more, and he wants to look out for me. So he sent that text. He also wrote the one tellin’ you to come see me. So there.” The last came out on a gush of breath. “There it is. I didn’t have the balls to apologize. My ten-year-old kid had to have the balls for me.”

Garrett concentrated on guiding his truck down her street.

He thinks you’re gonna make me happy.

When he didn’t reply immediately, she kept babbling.

“I typed it in, but I figure I don’t get any points for that. When you came over, I thought I’d fucked up and sent it myself. I was gonna say somethin’ about that, but then you got pissed as shit at Walter Jones and ended that with your hand down my pants. My attention got diverted. But I’m tellin’ you now, straight away, so you know.”

My attention got diverted.

He stopped at the stop sign at the end of her street, flicking on his blinker.

But even though the way was clear, he didn’t turn.

“Garrett?” she called.

My ten-year-old kid had to have the balls for me.

“Merry,” she whispered, the brusque out of her tone. She sounded scared.