Page 21 of The Wrong Drive

My jaw drops as my hands fall to my sides. “Uh, looking for you? It’s been almost two fucking days since I saw you last, and I thought that…” I can’t bring myself to finish the thought, realizing how over-the-top I’d sound. I look away and let out a sigh. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I see,” he grunts, eyeing me as he takes a step closer. He’s in the same clothes that he was in the night he disappeared, and thecloser he comes, the more disheveled he appears. His face is pale and his eyes bloodshot. His shoulders slumped. “I just needed to catch up on sleep.”

“For two fucking days?” I blurt out, unable to hide my concern. “I don’t know how you…I don’t…” I can’t find the words as he nears me, his chocolate eyes holding mine.

“I should be good for a while now. No worries.” He slips past me, his arm brushing mine, and heads for the stairs behind me, Gunner following in step with him.

I stand there in a stupor. What the fuck did he do up here for two days? He doesn’tlooklike he got all that much sleep. I glance over my shoulder as his figure disappears down the stairwell and then turn back, shaking my head. He went from coming onto me, to just…this?

Who the hell am I snowed in with?

After a few minutes, I spin on my heels and head back down the stairs, thankful for the warmth that comes with hitting ground level. My leggings are fleece lined, but the cabin I was planning to stay in with Adam had central heat—and if this cabin has it, I wouldn’t know.

I glance around for Turner, halfway wishing he was back upstairs. Not that it would help me sleep at night. My sleep is restless and fitful, leaving my head aching when I wake up in the morning. The back door slams as Gunner comes bounding through, followed by Turner.

“The snow is slowing down,” he tells me, rubbing his eyes. “But the second storm will move in tomorrow.”

“Ah, yeah.” My shoulders slump. “Another storm. Right.”

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck and grimacing. “Yeah. That’s what I said.” Gunner jumps up on the couch, circling until he gets comfortable, but I can barely take my eyes off Turner, standing just a few feet away. There’s stubble aligning his sharp jaw, and despite his brawny figure, he appears ragged.

What happened to you?

I want to ask him. I want to know if he’s always been like this. He mentioned he had hobbies and a life, so maybe at one point, he wasn’t. I try to imagine him without the edge—the rugged unstableness. I get lost in the image, and it’s only as he clears his throat that I realize I’m blocking his path.

“I need to shower.”

“Right, sorry.” I angle my body to side, as he steps past me. “Are you hungry?”

He stops, gazing back at me. “Yeah, but I can make dinner. I owe you.”

I furrow my brow as he disappears into the bedroom and shuts the door. I have no idea what the hell is going on. I shake my head, pushing my hair out of my face. It’s exhausting being here, and the sooner I can leave, the better off I’ll be… But there’s no way I’ll ever forget this strange man. I take a seat next to Gunner on the couch, stroking his dark fur.

“He’s not okay, is he?” I ask, sighing. Gunner lets out a heavy breath, as if to answer the question. I listen to the sound of the shower running, and imagine Turner beneath the stream of water, washing away two days’ worth of mystery. I clench my thighs at my body’s reaction, and then roll my eyes at myself.

He’s a bad,badidea.

Twenty minutes later, Turner reappears, this time dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans and a gray henley. His dark hair is damp as he steps into the kitchen, the soft glow glistening against the moisture. He’s quiet as he goes through the motions of shoving some sort of casserole into the oven, and I’m left to watch him from afar.

I fight the urge to talk and fill the silence, but instead I choose to wait it out, my uncertainty stronger than my need to speak. Turner appears to set a timer on the oven, and then surprisingly, he joins me in the living room.

“I see you managed,” his deep voice gravels as he takes a seat in the arm chair across from me. “I didn’t realize how long I was up there.”

“Yeah, I was fine.” I watch him cautiously, my heart skipping over itself as his eyes linger on my face. “I just got a little worried.”

He seems taken by this, his brows creasing. “Why?”

I purse my lips. “Because you were MIA for almost two days. That’s a long time to go without eating or something…”

Surprisingly, he chuckles. “You’re lying.”

I swallow the knot in my throat, running my hands down my thighs. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Why were you worried?”

“You were missing for two days,” I repeat myself, my voice tinged with frustration. “That’s a valid reason to be worried.”

“Because I hadn’t eaten?”

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