Page 53 of Faking I Do
“Doesn’t your dad still think you’re in Dallas until tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I haven’t told him what happened. Not sure I ever will.”
Bodie covered my hand with his. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”
The contact bolstered my confidence. “No, but I’m sure Adeline won’t be shy about broadcasting the events of the evening. Everyone will hear about it sooner or later.”
He squeezed my hand. “Let it be later, then. Spend the night with me and I’ll run you home tomorrow.”
I knew I should say no. But the thought of walking into my dad’s house, of pretending everything was fine when my heart was still spinning out of control, made my head hurt. What harm would there be in carving out one more night for just the two of us?
Finally, I shook my head. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”
Nodding, he let out a deep breath. “I get it.”
The appealing thing about Bodie was, I knew he did. He’d always seemed to understand me, even when I didn’t understand myself. I waited until he’d turned down the street where I grew up before I built up the courage to ask him the question I’d been dreading all morning. “What next?”
He eased the truck to a stop at the curb then looked over at me, that combination of boyish charm and wicked recklessness I loved reflected through his grin. “I’m hoping we can pick up where we left off earlier today. Maybe dinner and whatever else might follow at my place on Monday night?”
I bit my lip. “Does that mean you want to start seeing each other?”
“Seeing? Hell, Lacey, I don’t want to see you, I want to consume you.”
My heart expanded, filling my chest to the painful point that I rubbed a palm over my breastbone to make sure it wouldn’t burst. “Okay then.”
“Okay then?” He leaned across the console and worked an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “I want to see this through.”
I let out a breath. See it through. Suddenly the fact that I’d lost our first client and spent several hours in the slammer seemed worth the possibility that there could be some sort of future between us.
CHAPTER 27
LACEY
I madeit halfway up the walk before my feet refused to carry me one more step.
The porch light flickered like it always had—one more thing on the never-ending to-do list Dad had promised to fix and hadn’t. The house sat quiet and heavy, a shadow with all my old worries inside it. If I opened that door tonight, I’d have to paste on a smile and talk around the pieces of me that still rattled from Dallas. I stared at the knob, then at the truck idling at the curb.
Bodie hadn’t pulled away. It wasn’t too late.
I turned and jogged back before I could talk myself out of it. He lowered the window, that half-grin already waiting for me.
“Change of heart, Mayor?”
“Don’t call me that,” I said, breathless. “Not tonight.”
His fingers curled around the top of the steering wheel. “Get in.”
I did.
We didn’t talk much on the way to his place. The radio murmured something low and twangy, the windows fogged at the edges, and every few blocks his knuckles brushed mine like he couldn’t help but keep checking to make sure I was still there.
By the time he turned off the main road, the dark had deepened to a velvet sky, the kind that feels like warm hands over your eyes. A short gravel drive led to the house he’d bought when he took the job at the sheriff’s office. I hadn’t been there before, but it looked exactly like I expected it to… solid, lived-in, and just a little weathered around the edges.
“Home sweet home,” he said, cutting the engine.
He came around and opened my door. The cicadas sang in the weeds. Somewhere down the road a dog’s bark echoed through the night.
Inside, his space smelled like cedar and coffee and him. His boots lined up by the door. A stack of mail and a few sets of keys sat on a table by the door. The living room held a huge couch and a scarred coffee table that looked like it had survived his college days.
