Page 13 of Drive To Survive

I tightened my jaw, keeping my mouth shut. Every time I opened it, I made things worse. Better to stay quiet and let her irritation fizzle out. I half listened to her rant, but my attention flicked to her mouth. Damn, she’s got amazing lips. Soft, full, rosy pink. What would they feel like pressed against mine or, better still, wrapped around my cock? I hardened inside my jeans, forcing a shift in position.

Everly grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open. “If you’re so worried about my circumstances, then you’d better come inside and check things out for yourself. After all, if a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”

Oh, no. This is completely out of hand.

I eyed the set of steps leading up to the front door. My ankles had been acting up something awful today, probably due to the number of physio sessions I’d missed in recent days. I’d have to use the handrail to haul myself up to her front door. Fuck that. I didn’t want Everly Lawson’s pity when she realized the extent of my disability. No one wanted a woman they found attractive to feel sorry for them.

Dammit, Palmer, you’ve royally fucked up here.

“That’s really not necessary,” I said.

“On the contrary,” she countered. “You’ve made it necessary.”

She spun on her heel and marched toward her house, leaving my car door wide open. When she reached the other side of the road, she turned around, folded her arms, and tapped her foot.

I slowly closed my eyes. Jesus Christ.

Willing my erection to wane, I swung my legs out of the car and lumbered across the street. Before I reached her, she set off again, bounding up the four steps. Envy cut through me. My bounding days were long over, although, on a positive note, this experience had given me the kick in the arse I needed to commit to regular physio sessions.

I made it up the steps without making a complete fool of myself and entered the house.

“This is the living room,” Everly said, motioning with her hand. “And through there is the kitchen. Those two doors there lead to the two bedrooms, and over there is the bathroom. The TV is secondhand, but it doesn’t matter because we don’t watch a huge amount anyway, and I picked up my laptop at one of those computer stores where they recycle old equipment.”

She marched into the kitchen and yanked open the back door.

“This is the yard. It’s small, but secure.”

The door slammed shut and she whirled around, hands planted on her hips.

“So, tell me, Mr. Palmer, are we poor enough for your program?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “Mrs. Lawson, I apologize. There’s been a huge misunderstanding.”

“Really? It didn’t sound like that to?—”

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

My gaze fell on a young boy dressed in a pair of shorts and a white shirt, his dark hair flopping over his forehead. He squinted and looked up at me with eyes that were a replica of his mother’s—sea blue and hauntingly innocent.

“Who’s this?” he asked in that blunt manner kids rocked.

“This is Mr. Palmer,” Everly said. “He’s a friend.”

I arched a brow, and she gave me the smallest shake of her head, a sign she didn’t want me to elaborate any further on who I was and how we knew each other.

Unused to dealing with the little kids—I left the younger age group to Patrick—I limped over and stuck out my hand.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Nico. You must be Rhett.”

“Yeah,” he said, slipping his tiny hand inside mine. “I like your name.”

My lips stretched into a smile. “I like yours, too.”

“Wanna see my room?”

“Mr. Palmer was just leaving,” Everly said.

“Oh.” Rhett pouted.

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