Page 46 of Rope Me In

“That’s fair. I just thought I knew your type.”

Her gaze is fully on my profile like she’s trying to burn a hole in my face with laser-beam eyes. “Mytype? What do you mean by that?”

I shrug again and turn left down the town’s small main street. There’s not much out here—the bank, Allen’s General Store, The Diner, a couple of bars, and a Mexican food joint. Night Hawk is just on the outskirts of town.

Sometimes I joke Randall isn’t even a town, more like a blip on the map. A town everyone would look over if they were passing through unless they really needed to stop and use the bathroom.

“Tell me,” she prods. “What’s my type?”

I glance at her before looking back at the road. Her voice has an edge, and I know I’m going to have to tread carefully. “I mean no offense by this…”

She offers a derisive chuckle. “If you need to start with that, it’s going to be offensive.”

Yeah, this is not a good idea. I should’ve kept my big mouth shut. “Forget I said anything.”

“No. You don’t get out of a statement like that. I want to know what you see when you look at me.”

I grip the steering wheel and shift in my seat. I like this demanding side of her; it has me wanting to see more of it. I speculate if it would show up while in my bed or if it would take some coaxing. I bet—Jesus. I run my tongue against the back of my teeth and grip the wheel harder.

I need to stop imagining Presley as anything more than a friend—a distant friend—or I’m not going to be able to stay away. But the devil on my shoulder wonders if that would really be a bad thing. We work together, now practically live together, and she doesn’t really know me. It could be nice, though, to start semi-fresh with someone.

I’ve begun to think that she’s like me in some ways. She’s dealing with something—that much was obvious when I walked in on her crying earlier. And she overcame her smoking addiction, or at least found a way not to rely on it.

“Kade.”

I blink a few times, loosening my grip on the steering wheel.

“Are you really not going to answer me?”

“Sorry,” I say truthfully. “I don’t want you to get angry.”

“You haven’t let that stop you before.”

She’s right there. I collect my thoughts and blow out a breath. “When I first saw you, I thought you were another one of the city folk we get in here, people running from their life or wanting to escape for a bit. And with your purple hair and tattoos, I thought you were looking for attention, maybe someone or something to take your mind off things. But you surprised me, and you keep surprising me. Nothing I’ve thought about you so far has really been the case—except that youarea little sour.” I wink at her, trying to keep what I just said light.

Presley stays quiet, her chin dropping to her chest and hands clutching her black-fringed purse. Any lightness in the air has been sucked out, and the tension radiating off her has the hair on the backs of my arms standing on end.

“See, I told you I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

She stays silent as I pull into Night Hawk. After I’ve parked, I think she’s going to jump out and run as far and fast as she can from me, but she doesn’t. I remove my seatbelt and turn toward her.

“Presley, I’m sorry.”

The sound of her name has her looking up at me. “What do you think of me now?”

My eyebrows raise. “Honestly, I don’t know. You’ve not given me a chance to get to know you.”

“And if I told you that you were right?”

My curiosity sparks.Isshe running from something? Maybe this Derek guy? The idea has me feeling sick. “Then you would surprise me again,” I say.

Her searching eyes stare into mine, and the tension between us grows. But this is a different kind of tension, the kind right before something good or exciting happens. It has me even moretied up by whatever is going on between us…ornotgoing on between us.

Just as our bodies move toward each other—as if an invisible rope is pulling us together—a sound makes Presley jump, her head whipping toward the disruptive noise.

“It was a car door,” I say, my voice quiet.

She licks her lips and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride.” She turns her body and opens the door, hopping out of the truck so fast I swear I see a streak of purple in her wake.

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