Page 22 of The Wrong Drive

“Because you could’ve been dead,” I blurt out, ignoring the smirk on his handsome fucking face.

Turner leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It would take a lot moreto kill me, Emersyn. Trust me.”

“Good to know,” I mutter, my chest heaving as I catch a whiff of his new cologne and force my eyes away. “I’ll make a note of that.”

He cocks a brow at me. “Interesting thing to take note of.”

“You’re really picking apart every word that comes out of my mouth,” I shoot back at him. “Like I’m the one who disappeared for two days.”

Turner shrugs but his gaze darkens as he catches mine again. “I kind of like you all worked up,Em.”

My lips part but nothing comes out as Turner stands to his feet, leaving me there on the couch to watch him walk away. My eyes follow him all the way back to the kitchen. I don’t want to admit what his words did to me—or how he affected me in thebedroom that night—but when I shift to get more comfortable, the dampness in between my legs tells the story.

And it’s the fastest I’veeverbeen turned on.

There is something wrong with me. He’s probably going to kill me, and here I am, getting turned on and growing attached.

I bite down on my lip as he leans against the counter, folding his arms across his broad chest. He’s closed off and complicated, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to knowmore abouthim so badly. I don’t even have a good reason as to why, either. There’s something dangerous about him, but also something broken…

And I’m drawn to it more than I want to admit.

My mind fills with the image of him touching me, and it startles me as much as it turns me on more. Turner is a walking red flag, but the moment his eyes soften in my direction, all the sirens grow silent—and that is almost as terrifying as this blizzard. I inwardly chide myself.

It’s just because I want a rebound… That’s it. It has to be.

Chapter 9

Turner

I made her blush,and after two days of in and out of consciousness, I’m feeling a little better. She came looking for me, and it’s strangely a compliment of sorts. Sure, had I overdosed, she would’ve found my forty-eight-hour decaying corpse, but no one has searched for me in years.

She came looking after two days, and it wasn’t because she was struggling to get the fire going or needing help. She was just worried…about me.

And that’s all I can think about as I sit across from her at the table, sharing the shitty chicken parm frozen casserole dinner. I didn’t feel like putting in effort when it came to eating, but I wasn’t going to make her cook, either.

“It’s shit, I know,” I say as she forks a bite of the spaghetti.

She shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”

“Tell me what’s worse. Tell me the worst thing you’ve ever eaten.”

Emersyn cracks a smile. “Um, probably the time I ate at a seafood restaurant and the fish was undercooked.”

“You can eat fish raw,” I reason. “So, it might’ve tasted like shit, but at least it wasn’t going to kill you.”

She narrows her pretty jade eyes at my smirk. “Unless it hadn’t been stored right.”

“Well, glad you survived it.” I chuckle, my body feeling a lot lighter ever since getting some sleep. I know I can’t let my guard down, but I feel okay. No strong desire to murder her in a war-raged blackout. My head is clear, and hell, I’m sharing my table with an attractive woman—one that I can’t stop fucking staring at. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re snowed in or that I haven’t been around someone in so long, but itfeelslike more than that. She charges the air around me.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever eaten?” She sets her fork down beside the nearly finished meal.

“Uh, I don’t know.” I shift in my chair. “My mom’s meatloaf probably.”

“Oh, that’s just mean,” she laughs, shocking my chest with her light and airy tone. “Your poor mother.”

“At six feet under, I don’t think she’s worried about it now.” I frown, killing my own goddamn good mood. Emersyn falls into silence for a few moments, and I start to hate myself all over again.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she finally says.

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