Page 402 of Steamy Ever After

In the darkness, the ragged scar on his face is hard to see. I need to know more about the man standing beside me.

He walks us around to the back of the truck where the tailgate is down. Before I know what’s happening, he grasps my waist and lifts me up onto the tailgate. He jumps up to sit beside me. Like last time, blankets spread across the truck bed.

Tonight, however, feels different. Instead of a fuckfest we take things slow. Which is good. It lets me ask about something I’m curious about.

“Will you tell me about your scar?”

SCAR

Drake’s entire demeanor changes within the span of a heartbeat. His body stiffens. He drops my hand as if stung. Most damning of all is the slight shifting away from me.

“I’m sorry.” I hold up a hand, feeling as if I’ve made a terrible mistake. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Drake turns away. His shoulders hunch, and he draws into himself.

I stretch out a hand, but pull back, afraid to touch him. This is what I was afraid of, me pushing when I should just shut the fuck up.

He takes in a deep breath and then another. His head tilts back until he stares at the stars. I remember doing exactly the same thing not too long ago.

I don’t dare breathe; too afraid I made a horrible mistake.

We sit in silence for a moment while I rub my hands against my jeans, needing to do something. I’m about ready to jump down to the ground when his entire body relaxes.

“It was a long time ago.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want any secrets between us. Katie was a big part of my life.”

“Katie?”

“My wife.”

His wife?

A fist tightens around my throat, choking me while my heart takes a nosedive, plummeting so fast that I can’t help but tremble.

He’s married?

Too terrified to ask anything else, I try to still the trembling of my body. I swallow a few times, trying to reopen my throat and force a few words out. I finally manage the impossible feat.

“I didn’t know you’re married.” My voice is tight and unsure.

Wounded.

If he’s married, why the hell is he out here with me? How could he fuck me if he’s married to another woman?

I don’t know whether to be hurt, enraged, or something else. It’s as if my mind stops and finds itself incapable of processing any other thoughts.

Drake turns toward me. When he speaks, an aching loneliness fills his voice. “I was married.” He takes my hand in his and gives a little tug. “Abby, look at me.”

I would, except I don’t want him to see the tears tumbling down my cheeks.

Drake hops off the tailgate and spins around to face me. He places his hands on my knees, and with gentle pressure, forces my knees apart. He wedges himself between my legs, then he grabs my upper arms and gives me a little shake.

“I read you like an open book, city girl, and that thing going on in your head is not what this is.”

“What’s going on in my head?”

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