Page 5 of Chasing the Wild
His attention feels warm and not too forward. This stranger isn’t being overly direct, but there’s something sparking between us, and I’m sure it isn’t just my imagination.
One of his dark eyebrows lifts a little and he nods towards my license plate. The one that says OLEANDER TOWN AUTO, from the dealer where I bought it years ago. “We don’t have those kinds of plates here.”
“I could be borrowing a friend’s car.” I tease.
This time, his eyes most definitely drop down my body, and every inch of me comes alive.
“A friend, hmm?” He mulls the word over. “Is that the kind of friend that comes with a dick, or without one?”
Well, fuck. Is he asking if I have a boyfriend?
“Uhh. No friend.” I chew my cheek a little. “Boys my age aren’t worth my time, I find.”
That makes his eyes snap up to mine. Oh, holy hell, I might as well just wave a big sign that saysplease fuck me, I’m single, with that kind of statement.
He rubs a thumb along his jaw, still leaning against the truck, and he looks so damn good I want to melt. As he shifts his arm, it drags up the hem of his t-shirt a little, revealing a sliver of tanned skin above his belted jeans. Am I having heart palpitations? My pulse thuds relentlessly in my ears.
This man is stunning, a little rough around the edges, with a lump at the bridge of his nose hinting at stories from his past. This cowboy is just my type, only I’ve never actually met someone like him in the flesh before. He’s compelling, attractive, enticing in a way that makes my skin prickle with excitement.
“So, if you’re staying here in town… what are you doing on Friday night?” His voice is all rumbly, and I feel it right in my chest.
But then I realize what he’s asking. Or maybe, is about to ask.
And I fall back to earth with a jolt.
“Oh, no.” I shake my head, and his expression hardens. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was saying… I really am just passing through.” Jesus, I’m such a fucking idiot. It took me all of two seconds to lead this guy on, and now I feel like the world’s biggest cock-tease.
In another time, or life, I could maybe be Layla Birch: carefree woman who says yes to handsome strangers asking her out on a Friday night.
I could be the woman who gets to enjoy an easy conversation with a gorgeous man such as this one. Indulging in drinks and stolen glances and the giddy moment of wondering whether the night might end with being treated to more intimate pleasures.
Wondering whether there might be the type ofgoodnightthat involves a brush of lips and sensual glide of hot, seeking tongues.
Instead of all that, I’m stuck on a hamster wheel of bills to pay, a qualification to finish, and forever feeling older than my years.
When, by all rights, I should be dating and kissing handsome men with enthralling eyes and unruly hair.
“Well.” He pushes away from the truck, and suddenly ice solidifies in the air between us. Those shoulders of his are now tense beneath the thin cotton of his tee. “Travel safe, then.” And as quick as a flash, he’s fishing his keys out of his back pocket and is on the move, opening the cab of his truck without so much as another look in my direction.
I make a start toward him. “Wait, I need to pay you back for the gas.” God, I’ve fucked this all up.
“Don’t worry about it.” He swings up into the driver’s side and slams the door.
The giant black truck roars to life as he revs the accelerator, taking off out of the gas station. Leaving me standing there coated in sweat and shame and feeling my heart sink into the oil-stained concrete.
My foul moodonly worsens when I plug the stupid hillbilly address into the map on my phone, and all I can see is a long-ass road finishing in a dead end. The red pin glares back at me like a big middle finger.
Surely, it can’t be right.
I pinch the screen to zoom out, and this address isn’t even hillbilly territory. It’s on Mars.
The location is so far out of town I want to cry. It’ll use up a large chunk of the gas that the handsome stranger just paid for in order for me to drive out there and back again.
Kayce Wilder can go fuck himself, I bet he wrote the address down wrong—it would be typical of him—so I decide to get resourceful and go in search of some local knowledge. Crimson Ridge is small enough, surely someone will know something, but I certainly won’t be setting foot back inside the gas station.
So I park my car under the shade of the trees lining the median and make my way into the cute little cafe next door. The outside is surrounded by jasmine blossoms winding along the porch, shading the footpath from the beating sun. The place is quiet, with the lunch rush long gone, and when I cross the threshold, cool air welcomes me inside. Thank fuck for that. My shoulders sag with relief.
A girl around my age is behind the counter washing some glasses, so I make my way over. She’s got long, poker-straightblack hair, with bleached ends. Her tank top is way too tight, but hey, if that’s what gets her tips then so be it.
