Page 40 of Knot That Difficult

I beam.

8

CONNOR

I’m nothard from touching hand.

I am not hard from touching her hand.

I am a gentleman, and that would beobscene.

I can hear Ace laughing at me hysterically in my head, delighted that this woman is slowly chipping away at my control.

Don’t fuck this up,he warned me,or I’ll never forgive you.

I’d never forgive myself.

I hold the passenger door open for her and can’t help but buckle her in once she takes a seat.

I’m finding any excuse just to be near her.

That sweet smell of cookies blooms around me, and I have to swallow down saliva due to how much my mouth is watering.

It’s not just because her scent is addicting—it’s because I want to bite her, too.

I feel like a vampire, desperate to sink my fangs into her and just claim her as mine.

I grip the steering wheel tightly, horrified at my inner thoughts.

I am polite.I am a gentleman.

“I like the way you drive,” Devyn observes, and I can feel her staring at me.

“You do?” I ask. I check the speedometer. I’m above the speed limit, but not too much.

I’m just driving normally.

“You don’t drive like a douche,” she announces. “You have a nice car, but you’re not trying to race everyone or rev your engine or any of that awful stuff. I can’tstandthat sound.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Well, no one’s complimented my driving before,” I chuckle. “Are you normally in cars with people that drive like that?”

A disturbing thought hits me. Who would drive recklessly and put her in danger like that?

Her boyfriend wouldn’t, right?

Ben doesn’t seem like that kind of guy, but I could be wrong.

“I grew up near a busy street, and people werealwaysracing,” Devyn says, interrupting my train of thought. “I mean until, like, four in the morning. I couldn’t sleep at night, and then I would go to school and fall asleep at my desk. It washorrible.”

I glance at her while we’re at a stoplight, and she shudders, as if reliving a painful memory.

“I don’t plan on driving like a douche,” I reassure her. “And I can promise you no engine revving.”

She sighs. “Good,” she says, and all is right in the world again.

It’s disturbing how much I already hate the sight of her being unhappy.

“So, where did you grow up?” We’re on the freeway now, around half an hour from the restaurant, and I don’t want her to stop talking.

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