Page 177 of Prey for You

Jealousy would do crazy things to a man. Especially a man who was maybe a little unhinged himself.

And it wasclearthat Bridget attracted unhinged men.

I huffed again, grinning at myself.

“What are you so happy about?” Bridget asked suspiciously.

“I’m just glad I won.”

“Won what?”

“The crazy lottery,” I said with a shrug.

“I’m sorry,what?”

“It just occurred to me that you were raised by a man who had a screw loose. And you kind of attract other men with a few bolts that need tightening too.”

She frowned. I turned and grinned at her. “I won. I was the right kind of crazy.”

“Oh. I thought you were sayingIwas crazy.”

“I definitely was. That too,” I said, laughing when she slapped my arm.

I was relieved that she seemed pretty relaxed. A little thoughtful maybe. A little quiet. There’d probably be tears later when we got home and it hit her what she’d done today.

“I’m really proud of you, Bridget,” I said quietly, squeezing her hand.

“For being crazy?”

“No, for doing that today. You did it, and you did it honestly. That’s the hard part. Most people think being brave isshowing up in the hard spot. It’s not. Being brave is beingauthenticin the hard spot. Being honest about how you feel, no matter what anyone else thinks about it. That takes real courage. And…” I turned to look at her. “It’s how we find freedom, too.”

“I hope so. I am ready to stop having to fight to breathe,” she muttered.

“If I can help, let me know.”

She turned to look at me with a thoughtful expression.

“What?” I asked.

“I think you can. Help me, I mean.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. There’s a park at the next exit. Can I interest you in a little… jog?”

My heartrate bumped up immediately, but I put on my serious face. “I know this was big. But I don’t know, Bridge. Like, I feel like we should sort of sit with the feelings, you know?”

She rolled her eyes and looked back out the window. But she didn’t argue with me. After a minute I thought she’d just agreed with me and got lost in thought again.

But then I felt her fingers on my thigh. Just her warm palm resting there, something she did a lot when we were in the car, so I didn’t think about it much.

But then she started running fingertips up and down the seam inside my thigh.

Then down between my legs and back up, stroking me gently.

“Bridget,” I growled and reached for her hand, but somehow she’d turned and leaned over the console, and now I had two hands to contend with while I still needed to drive.

Then she’d gotten my jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, and a few struggles later, I was free of my jeans and she was stroking me, and I was pressed back in my seat.

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