Page 290 of Branded
No, I wasn’t pulling a Chelsea.
I just…paid attention to every single time when she was in my life, whether it was on the periphery or right in my face.
“Grab your keys,” I ordered, moving to her car.
A shiver ran through her body.
Fuck. Too damned cold out here.
But she didn’t move to get her keys—or not quickly enough, anyway. Because she was too busy yapping. “You’re going to let me drive?”
Fuck no, I wasn’t.
She was shaking. Exhausted.
I’d drive her home and come back for my car later. She’d need hers to get Ethan to school in the morning.
Ignoring her question, I reached into her purse, snagged her keys, and unlocked her car. A moment later, she was in the passenger’s seat and I’d buckled her in and the door was shut, and then I was in the driver’s side with my knees practically in my armpits.
Christ, I’d forgotten how little she was.
Mostly because she took up so much space in my heart and mind.
I jammed the key into the ignition, shoved the seat back, readied to pull out of the spot.
“I guess you’re not going to let me drive.”
Fourteen
Jules
He’d carried me like he never wanted to put me down.
And then he…
Then he’d buckled me in the passenger’s seat.
He’d buckled me in.
That alone had my heart thudding against my rib cage, my palms going sweaty. Because…it meant too much.
So, I went with sarcasm.
That clever tool had been my constant companion for years past.
And as far as coping mechanisms went, it wasn’t the worst.
My tone was dry when I said, “I guess you’re not going to let me drive.”
The incredulous look he shot my way made my thundering pulse settle, had amusement bubbling up and boiling over. I couldn’t stop myself from giggling…and I couldn’t stop the warmth growing in my belly, drifting up to encase my heart at the way his face changed when I laughed.
He dropped one hand off the steering wheel and reached toward me, brushing his thumb lightly over my bottom lip. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
I wasn’t.
Really, I wasn’t.
Okay, so I didn’t think I was ugly. I liked the way I looked—sleek blond hair that didn’t take much work to make look silky and shiny (which was good because I didn’t have time to do more than wash it on occasion and throw it into a ponytail or let it air dry); dark brown irises that reminded me of chocolate syrup, a nose that was maybe a bit too proud, but it was my mother’s nose, my one connection with the woman I’d never known and yet who so dramatically affected every facet of my life. My skin was clear and sun-kissed from playing outside with Ethan so much, and while my body wasn’t perfect and I’d never fully lost the baby weight leaving me with a good rack, which, yeah, was inconvenient and got in the way, but even I could admit the extra weight there looked good on my frame. Plus, I was in good shape—a side benefit of having a busy kiddo and a job where I was on my feet all day every day.
