Page 146 of Holding On To Good

He wasn’t going to take the words back. He was going to apologize.

She turned wordlessly and stormed off toward her car.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to chase after her.

Chasing after her that night two weeks ago was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

But then she opened the driver’s side door of her car and he surged forward, his body propelled by a wave of fear and panic. Swamped with anger.

Drowning in jealousy and self-disgust.

“Tell me you were with him,” he demanded and she spun around to face him, her hair streaming out, the sweet, coconutty scent of her shampoo fucking torturing him.

She jabbed a finger at his chest with enough force to drill past flesh and bone, stopping an inch from touching him. “I really, really need you to stop talking now and maybe, like, forever.”

And she turned and tossed her phone into her car then kneeled on the driver’s side seat. Leaned over to dig through her glove compartment, muttering under her breath. He couldn’t make out many of the words, but he thought he heard something about idiotic boys and then, a moment later, her cop brother.

No way in hell was he asking about either of those things.

Probably couldn’t have spoken even if he’d wanted to, not when she was still wearing those cutoffs, her ass in the air in front of him on full, glorious display, the backs of her thighs smooth and pale. She shifted, reaching for something in the back of the glove compartment and her sweatshirt rode up, revealing the deep curve of her waist and the delicate bumps of her lower spine and his fingers twitched and he took a step forward. Realized he was reaching for her, his arm outstretched, his fingers seeking, desperate to see if her skin really was as soft as he imagined. As warm.

He forced his arm to lower. Curled his fingers into his palms.

Goddammit. He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be anywhere near a girl like Verity Jennings. But he’d told himself this would be the only time. The only time he sought her out. The only time he gave in to his constant thoughts about her.

Whatever hold she had on him ended here. Now.

She was still muttering but now she was tossing shit from the glove box into the passenger side seat.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, survival instincts kicking in.

He doubted she was carrying, but he wouldn’t put it past her cop brother to arm her with a taser.

He’d been tased once his last stint in juvie.

Not an experience he wanted to repeat.

Then again, a couple hundred bolts of electricity might be the thing to finally zap this girl out of his system.

“My pepper spray,” she grumbled, still sorting through her junk. “You’re the first person who’s ever ticked me off enough to even consider using it. Congratulations. You must be very proud.”

“Just tell me you were with that frat boy,” Reed repeated and she stiffened. Shot him a look over her shoulders and Jesus Christ, it about cut him off at the knees how much he wanted her just like that. On all fours, looking back at him.

Shit.

Now he had a hard-on.

And he only got harder when she finally backed out of the car in an ass wiggling, hip shimmying way.

Sweat beaded on his upper lip and he wiped the back of his hand over it. Swallowed. And when she straightened and turned, all he wanted was to take a step closer.

He took one back.

“What is with this preoccupation you have with Brandon? It’s seriously weird.”

Noticing her arms were crossed, her hands hidden, he jerked his chin up. “Did you find the pepper spray?”

Though he couldn’t make out her expression clearly, he’d bet his dog she was giving him one of her you-are-too-stupid-to-live looks. “Are you curled up in a pathetic ball on the ground with your eyes burning and tears streaming down your face?”

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