Page 6 of Endgame

I now feel even worse for being the roadblock in his plans today.

Deciding that greeting him is probably the better option than staring, I respond, “Hi.”

He runs a hand through his thick hair, sending me a playful smirk.

I’m pretty sure I caught him looking at me from top to bottom.

“You trying to kill me, woman?”

Is he for real right now? Just get me home, please.

He doesn’t attempt to clarify what he means. “Uh, what’s happening here?”

I’m waiting for him to show any sign of impatience. If he feels that way, he doesn’t make it known. His silent smirking does nothing to help calm my racing thoughts.

Cool. Good talk.

He surprises me by rushing my pace along. “Angel, I’ve got places to go, and people to see, so get your pretty little ass in the car, and let’s roll.”

I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone this forward.

“I fear my life may be at risk riding with you. Also, don't call me that.”

Before I know it, Cal throws his head back and laughs. The most gravely, sexy laugh I’ve ever heard. If I didn’t feel so numb, I'd say it’s one I’d like to bottle up and keep forever. Too bad I couldn’t care less.

Yes, he’s nice to look at. I’m not blind. Just not interested; at least that’s what I tell myself.

He gives me no choice but to notice things I don't want to, like how the sculpting of his Adam’s apple is brought to a heavier light from the glare of the sun. He has so many intricate tattoos that run like silk from his wrist and slowly escapeunderneath his short-sleeved shirt. It’s annoying that he looks so happy and put together.

I don’t even want to know what the sweat I’m showcasing has done for my appearance. I’m likely doing myself a disservice.

“Oh, she’s feisty. I like it.”

I’m groaning so loud I startle myself. “Sure am. I’m so very sorry to act as your Monday morning inconvenience. I’ll buy you a coffee and we’ll call it even.” I send him a snarky smirk, hoping he catches theleave me alonevibes I’m giving him.

Rounding the front of his Jeep, I not so gracefully grab the handrail and lift myself into the passenger seat. Placing my crossbody in my lap and pulling my sunglasses over my eyes, I lay my arms across my chest and stare out the front window waiting for him to drive away—but the Jeep remains eerily still.

Callaway hasn’t moved an inch, and I’m scared to look at him.

I should have called an Uber. Instead, now I’m forced to overthink everything this complete stranger is thinking because he’s the one with the keys and working vehicle to get me out of this mess.

I’m grateful and slightly caught off guard by his boldness around me.

He’s probably wondering why Navy would be friends with someone so difficult and unpredictable.

Color me confused because I am too.

Before I get a chance to speak up and ask what the holdup is, the smell of cedar and citrus hits my nose, putting goosebumps at attention on my arms.

No. No. No.Lock it down, Dakota.

His massive frame is leaning over the center console,fully invading my space, and making me question if I stink or not.

Lovely.

His long arm reaches over me, the perks of being a Major League pitcher, to grab ahold of my seat belt and swiftly buckle me in. His thumb gently caresses my arms that are folded at my chest from the sudden movement.

It’s such a small slip with such a lasting effect.

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