Page 21 of Falling for Carla

She went quiet all of a sudden, and I didn’t push her. She’d had a harrowing morning and didn’t need me interrogating her. She needed time to gather her thoughts and calm down. She told me the address and I drove her there. Old habits died hard, so I didn’t park in front of the building, but around back.

CHAPTER 16

CARLA

“Did you recognize the guy?” he asked me after a long silence.

“No,” I said. “It wasn’t the same guy from the bar. And no, before you ask, I don’t make a habit of being attacked in alleys or parking lots,” I said, sounding irritable. “I always do that…” I said, repentant, “act mad when I’m actually scared. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. First thing I learned on the force—okay, the second thing—was that angry people are either scared or sad as the primary emotion. Anger is fear’s bodyguard,” he said.

“Okay, grasshopper,” I quipped.

“Oh, now you have the smart mouth back?” he said, and I swore he was trying to tease me. I shook my head.

“It’s a reflex.”

He didn’t respond, just pulled into a parking spot far away from the door of my building around back.

He turned off the ignition and pocketed the keys. “I’ll walk you up.”

“No, I’m--,” I said, then I faltered, remembering Brenda was in San Jose and I didn’t like the idea of being alone just then. “Yeah, that would be nice. Thanks.”

I walked up the stairs, aware that Drake was behind me. I wasn’t uncomfortable. Far from it. I felt comforted, protected. Like he had my back. I also had to stiffen my spine and clench my jaw and concentrate to take the switch out of my walk, because my body on some biological level had decided to try and telegraph desirability to my teacher who drove me home after I hid under a car.

Not that I was a seductress or anything, but I doubted that I looked very appealing after that ordeal. Nevertheless, I had to consciously subdue the sway of my hips on the stairs because on some level I wanted to attract him. It was sort of humiliating to realize that about myself at such a time.

Inside, I told him to have a seat, that I’d be quick. I wanted to blast a hot shower over myself, but I didn’t indulge. I wanted to hurry and get him out of here and back on his way because I felt like I was an inconvenience. It was our second personal encounter—and the second time he’d been a bystander to my drama. I didn’t want to impose on his patience.

I plugged my phone in to my rapid charger and I ran a towel over my hair and then combed it and pulled it up. A pair of leggings and a favorite worn out t-shirt went a long way to warming me up and comforting me. I stepped into my running shoes and grabbed my keys out of the pocket of the shorts I’d had on and took my phone off the charger.

When I came back into the living room, I saw Drake on the couch, his muscular, lanky form taking up most of the couch that Brenda and I watched movies on. He was a hell of a good-looking man, although I wouldn’t admit it to him, or admit the stir of tingly feelings that raced up my stomach at the sight of him sprawled on my couch. He held a frame in his hand, the one that held my mom’s picture. I’d left it out on the coffee table that morning. I’d been talking to her over my cup of coffee.

I dropped onto the sofa beside him and took the picture, looking at it, her beautiful smile. My chest ached for a moment just seeing her face. “My mom died when I was sixteen,” I said, my voice hollow.

He nodded. He didn’t ask any nosy questions, which I liked.

“You look like her,” Drake offered.

I felt the warmth of that sentiment, of the kind way he said it.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I have the Russo nose. And the Russo temper,” I added ruefully.

“Your nose is fine.”

“You didn’t say my temper was fine,” I teased.

“I’m not delusional. I’ve been on the receiving end of it,” he said with a chuckle.

“If you call me feisty, I’ll have to hurt you,” I warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of calling you that. You’re tough. You’re intelligent. You’re beautiful…” He trailed off, ran a hand over his hair. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t suffused with warmth and something like joy that he said I was those things. I knew who I was, and I knew my worth. Hearing Drake Sheffield, professor, ex-cop, and protector say that, had a special meaning to it that I was afraid to consider.

I sat beside him and leaned against his arm a little. I didn’t put my head on his shoulder shamelessly or anything, I just sat close so our arms were touching, and I could smell that good, spicy cologne he wore.

“Thank you for giving me a ride so I could clean up,” I said. “I can call a Lyft to get back to my car. I’ve taken up enough of your time.” I said it just as awkwardly as I felt. Because what I really wanted to do was sink back into those couch cushions and curl up against his side and shut my eyes, maybe with his arm around me protectively. It felt like that would be my perfect idea of paradise at the moment. Just the companionable silence, his nearness, some peace.

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