Page 17 of The Right Stuff

“I’m just not.”

He pulls me in closer, lowering his head so his strong jaw brushes against my head. In a voice so deep it should be illegal, he says my name. I pull back and look up at him, and our gazes lock and hold. We stop swaying to the music and somehow my heartbeat slows even while my pulse races.

A warm flush spreads through my body again, and I panic. “I have to go.”

His loose expression tightens, and he lets go of me and steps back. “Where you running to now?”

My thoughts jumble into a mix of unintelligible gibberish. I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want him to let go of me. “I just...I can’t...I have to go.”

And run I do. All the way up the stairs tohisapartment. My refuge and the lion’s den.

Chapter Five

Nash

TRU HAS BEEN AVOIDINGme most of the day, which doesn’t surprise me, and I’d like to say it doesn’t bother me but it does.

Something has her spooked about men, though I guess finding out your husband is a lying thief could do that to a person. But I feel like there’s more to the story.

Despite her assurances that she’s not a sexual person, I feel the chemistry between us and I know she does too. How could she not? It’s enough to set off the smoke alarms faster than her cooking.

My dad brought a pizza over, so we’re having a slice at the bar when he whistles under his breath. I know that whistle, so I follow his gaze to the door.

There’s a redhead, though the first thing I notice about her isn’t her hair color. It’s not like she’s trying to hide that rack from anyone. She struts in on heels so high she must fight off nosebleeds. The dress that barely covers her is leopard print, and she’s got bangles up and down both arms.

The aura of sex surrounding her is potent, stunning almost. She’s the kind of woman men fall all over themselves to get near even if they think she’s out of their league.

My dad, the dirty old man, is instantly in his version of love.

“What is a beautiful woman like you doing in a dump like this?” he asks when she makes her way up to the bar.

“Seriously, Dad?”

She smiles and runs a long fingernail down his shirt. And then she blinks. “Well, fuck me, you’re Brandon McKendrick.”

Dad just laughs, used to the reaction. “I am. You’re too young to be a fan, though.”

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