Page 35 of Lovingly Restored

“They’re myfavourite.”

“Shocking.”

The rumble of the black truck reaches me right before it pulls up to the curb. Turns out that parking your ass on cold concrete serves the dual purpose of numbing your butt cheeks and sobering you up. Leaving the cloying concoction of perfumes and aftershave instantly settled my stomach. The tires stop inches from my tender toes, and the tinted passenger window whirs down.

Even over the chatter of people outside the bar, I can hear his gruff voice. “Get in.”

Maybe it’s the way he ordered it, or the fact that his assumptions about me were aggravatingly accurate, but I don’t think I will. I stand, the ache in the balls of my feet reminding me why I sat down in the first place.

“I’m not ready to go home yet.” I tighten my leather jacket around me.

He leans further over the centre console toward the open window. “I’m not playing this game again, Ashlyn. We’ve already done it once, and it ended with your ass in the truck.”

Anna hangs back, staying out of it.

A bald bouncer, dressed in head-to-toe black approaches us. “This is a no parking zone.”

“I’m not parking. I’m picking someone up,” Isaac says with gritted teeth.

This night was supposed to be about blowing off steam and forgetting about Isaac, but all this outing did was rile me up further. Here I am with him. Again. The man is inescapable, and that adds to my bitchiness.

I point to the truck then turn to Anna. “This is the monstrosity that nearly killed me.”

“Yeah, yeah. And then the handsome driver escorted you home. Traumatic.” She tries to herd me toward the truck.

“Seriously, you need to move along,” the bouncer says.

“I’ll movealongwhen I’ve picked her up.”

“Doesn’t really seem like she wants to go with you, buddy.”

I press my lips together when I see Isaac’s jaw clench and the fake smile he plasters on his face. The bouncer steps over to me and places a heavy arm around my shoulders, pulling me tight to his side, making me stumble slightly in my heels. The driver’s side door clicks, and I gulp. Isaac strides around the front of his truck, and my stomach swoops at the sight of him in a big grey hoodie that emphasises his broad shoulders and strong arms. A black ball cap is pulled low over his eyes. His steel-toed work boots don’t really go with the outfit, but it tells me he grabbed the first shoes he could find in his rush to come get me the moment I called. The bouncer is smarter than he looks, because he lets go of me as Isaac reaches us.

“I’ve got her now,buddy.“ Isaac stares him down until the man glances pointedly at the no parking sign once more and returns to his post by the bar doors.

Isaac places his hands tight around my waist and yanks me toward him, so our bodies are flush. It’s the closest we’ve ever been, and, of course, we have an audience. People are looking our way.

“Ashlyn, I came out to get you in the middle of the night.Youcalledme.“ His eyes smoulder as he leans in close. “Get. In. The. Truck.”

That bouncer might have crumbled under Isaac’s show of authority, butIwon’t.

In search of a little control, I glance up at him, licking my bottom lip and pressing my abdomen against his hips.

“Or what?”

What can I say? I’m not good at taking orders.

Isaac’s answer is an action. The bright streetlights over my head flip, and my breath whooshes out of me as a muscled shoulder bears my weight. I squeak, but don’t scream. I don’t want that bouncer coming back thinking I’m actually in danger. Although, maybe I am in trouble with the man beneath me.

“Bye, babe,” Anna says, swatting me on my ass.

Isaac unceremoniously drops me into the sumptuous leather seat, blood rushing from my head.

“Night, kids, don’t have too much fun,” she sings, slamming the door and giving it a tap.

I wiggle around in the seat and drop my condom-filled clutch on the floor. My hair is in my face, and my dress rode up several inches from being manhandled in front of dozens of people. I find the button for the window and roll it up, desperate to be out of the view of the curious onlookers. Isaac gets in and looks me over. The slit of my dress teeters on the edge of obscenity. I tug on the hem, but since I’m sitting on the fabric, it doesn’t make much difference. Blowing some hair out of my eyes, I glance at my disagreeable driver. He’s pushing his sleeves up over his forearms. When he grabs the steering wheel, activating all sorts of corded muscles that ought to be illegal, I practically whimper. If it wasn’t for the enraged expression on his face, he almost looks cuddly. What would it be like to hug him while he wears all that soft squishy fabric?

“Glad to see you got in,” he says.

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