We pass Wren, Holden, June, and Mom, and Wren raises her brows at me, a smirk on her face. I lift my shoulders, wondering if I look even half as confused as I feel, or if I just look freshly kissed. Absolutely ruined.
When we finally get out of the grandstand, I pull him to a stop. “I can’t walk in these boots anymore,” I say, using his shoulder to hold myself up as I tug one of them off. “You don’t get to say you were right, understand?”
I look up at him, dropping down an inch when I finally get my boot off and step onto the dirt. He’s smiling, eyes crinkled on each side, the lines disappearing into his hairline. “How are you expecting to get back to the truck?”
“Walk?”
“Half these stands are selling drinks in glass bottles, Fin. You can’t walk barefoot.”
I kick up my foot, showing off my now dusty white sock. “I’m not.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s no actual exasperation in his expression. He takes the boots from my hands and spins around so his back is facing me. “Hop on.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t be carrying me today,” I say, but I’m already stepping closer, itching to feel him against me again.
“I have no control where you’re concerned, sweetheart.”
I can feel the roughness of his voice scraping down my spine, making the fine hairs there stand at attention. My skin flushes hot, warmth pooling low in my belly, in the spots on my face and neck where his hands were resting a few minutes ago when he sank his teeth into my bottom lip and tugged.
“That so?” I ask, my voice sounding as shaky as I feel.
He looks at me over his shoulder, his eyes looking unusually dark, pupils wide. “I thought that was fairly obvious when I kissed you.”
The way he says it so casually feels pornographic. I swallow, heat rushing to my face. Instead of commenting on it, he turns back around, bending so I can easily jump onto his back.
I do, the breath heaving out of me when he transfers the boots into my hands and places his on my exposed legs. These shorts felt like a good idea this morning when I was dressing for the weather, but now, with his calloused fingers denting the skin of my thighs, holding me in place as he starts toward the exit, I think maybe this was the worst idea I’ve ever had.
Feeling his hands on me is too much, and by the time we get to the truck, I think I’m going to combust. It’s been too long sinceI’ve been touched. He holds me like he was made for it. Like I was made for him, for his hands and his body and his kisses.
When he finally sets me down, I’m shivering with anticipation. I’m equal parts hot and cold. He opens the door for me, and I feel his eyes like a caress as he watches me climb in, his forearm planted on the door frame. He’s not smiling this time as I look up at him through the fringe of my lashes. His gaze is hot, searching.
“Where to?” he asks, voice the scrape of sandpaper on wood.
I hesitate for only a moment, considering, but I finally offer what I want most. “We could go back to my place.” It feels bold, but I want privacy. I want to see what he will do if the whole town isn’t watching.
He holds my eyes for a long moment, and I think I see a muscle in his jaw flicker, see his gaze drop back down to my lips again. “Okay.”
“If you want to?” I ask, feeling vulnerable, unsure.
This, at least, makes a small smile twitch across his lips. It’s not wide, bright. It’s soft, private. Like a secret between the two of us. “Yeah, Finley, I want to. I’ll stay until you kick me out.”
We’re quiet on the drive across town, windows down and radio on, playing a softly staticky country station. Anticipation pulses beneath my skin the closer we get to my apartment, and my imagination runs wild.
This isn’t the first time he’s been there, obviously, and not even the first time we’ve been there alone. But it is the first time we’ve been there alone after kissing like it was an appetizer. After breaking apart like neither of us wanted to. After seeming to acknowledge the attraction growing between us over the last few weeks.
Or maybe it’s been longer. I’ve been aware of Grey for as long as he’s been a part of my life. Although him calling me annoying when I was in high school made my crush on him crash andburn, nothing could make his inherent magnetism disappear. I may not have wanted him for the past fifteen years, but I would be lying to say I wasn’t still attracted to him.
Time feels funny on the way back to my apartment, both rushing forward and standing still until we’re there, parking the truck in the little lot behind my building. When he opens my door again, tapping his fingers on the roof of the truck, I’m tugging my boot back on, cringing as they scrape against the blisters.
“What are you doing?”
“I dropped a jar of pickles from my groceries on the stairs up to the apartment last week and I haven’t gotten a chance to sweep up the little pieces yet.” I grit my teeth when I try to squeeze past a particularly painful blister on my pinky toe. “Shit, that hurts.”
“I can just carry you,” he says, pulling the boots from my hands.
I swallow and look up at him, the nerves flaring back to life in my stomach. “Okay.”
I expect him to turn around, give me his back once more, but this time, he picks me up with one arm behind my back and the other under my knees, bridal style. The air rushes out of my lungs, and I loop my arms around his neck to keep from slipping.
