Page 11 of Falling for the Sheriff
5
Alice
Tonight has been a dream. This guy has seen me double-fisting onion rings, and he hasn’t stopped smiling at me since.
Can I ask for a better man? Doesn’t help that I’m fighting not to pull my hand from his as I can feel it growing clammy in his warm, steady grasp.
I’m terrified he’ll notice the nervous sweat and be disgusted, but he just laces his fingers tighter through mine, like he has no intention of ever letting go.
The night air has turned sharp and cold, a stark contrast to the warm buzz of the bar. A shiver wracks my frame, and instinctively, I press closer to his side, seeking his warmth.
He doesn’t miss a beat. He gently untangles our hands, and before I can mourn the loss, he guides my hand to the crook of his arm, tucking it firmly against his side.
My fingers curl around the solid muscle of his bicep, even through the tough leather of his jacket, and I can feel the undeniable strength there.
A traitorous voice in my mind reminds me just how strong he is, and I remember exactly how he looks without all these clothes on.
Heat floods my cheeks, a warmth that has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the solid, real man walking beside me.
I suck in a deep breath, but all it does is leave me feeling dizzy.
The combination is too much—his strength under my hand, the intoxicating memory, the intimacy of walking like this through the quiet, sleeping town.
My heart is hammering against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that I’m sure he must feel if not hear.
“We should probably head back,” I suggest, my voice coming out a little too breathless. “It’s getting late.”
I feel the rumble of his agreement in his arm before I hear it.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice a low, warm sound in the darkness. He doesn’t sound disappointed, just… thoughtful. He places his hand over mine, where it rests on his arm, anchoring me there. “Let’s get you home.”
* * *
The rumble of the truck’s engine cuts out, leaving a sudden, thick silence in its wake. We’re parked outside my apartment, the dim glow of the porch light washing over the dashboard.
Neither of us moves. It feels like a rule has been silently agreed upon—the first one to move makes this a true ending, a final goodbye, and neither of us seems to want that.
“Tonight was great, Alice,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble in the dark cab.
I nod, my throat almost too tight to speak. “It was,” I agree softly. “Really great.”
So great, I want it to keep going.
Another patch of silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable.
Finally, with a soft sigh that seems to decide itself, he moves. He pushes his door open, the interior light flooding on, and circles the truck to open mine.
The old-fashioned courtesy makes my heart squeeze once more. I take the hand he offers, his grip firm and sure as I step down onto the pavement.
We walk to my door, our footsteps unnaturally loud in the quiet night. I fumble with my keys, the jangling sound absurdly loud, before finally managing to unlock the door.
I turn to him, my heart thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. “Thank you, Atlas. For…everything.”
He’s closer than I expected. He’s looking down at me, his eyes unreadable in the shadows, but his expression is soft.
I stare up at him, waiting. My mind is a mess, but my body already knows what it wants. It’s a truth as certain as my own heartbeat. Even if it’s a terrible idea, a complication I can’t afford right now, every fiber of me is already leaning in.
He sees it. He sees the silent invitation, the slight tilt of my chin, the way my gaze keeps flicking to his mouth. He brings a hand up, not to pull me in, but to gently brush a stray strand of hair from my cheek, his thumb lingering for a breathtaking second on my skin.
