Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“I know,” I say, glancing away, unable to bear the look in his eyes. “I fucked up. I know that. But I was drinking, and I wasn’t thinking straight. The Uber wasn’t going to come for a while, and I figured I could get home quicker if I walked. I know it was stupid. I just . . . I wasn’t thinking.”
He presses his lips into a hard line and focuses his attention on the road, still refusing to release my hand. “What about your date?” he asks. “He couldn’t drive you home?”
Guilt soars through my chest, and I drop my gaze to my lap. “There was no date,” I admit. “I was meeting up with Becs. I just . . . I said it because I was being a petty bitch, and I wanted to hurt you because . . . Well—”
“Because I hurt you,” he finishes for me.
I let out a heavy breath and nod, so fucking ashamed of myself. What kind of person purposely hurts the man they love? An hour ago, I thought I was so clever for fooling him into thinking I was going out on a date with Harrison, but now, it just feels spiteful.
“Did you mean what you said before?” I ask, risking a timid glance over, not wanting to linger on my pettiness. “On the phone?”
His lips press into a hard line as a strange tension fills the air. I’m sure he’s sick of me pushing him on this, but after everything that was just said, how could he expect me not to?
Izaac clears his throat and releases my hand before his gaze flicks toward his dashboard. “Are you going to be okay if I stop for gas?”
Disappointment fires through my chest, and it becomes clear that everything he just said was for the purpose of keeping me calm. He didn’t mean a damn word. “Oh, umm . . . yeah,” I say as a single tear rolls down my cheek.
I keep my gaze locked out the window, refusing to allow him to see me cry, and just as the tear falls from my cheek and hits my collarbone, Izaac pulls off the side of the road and into the gas station.
There’s one other car parked at the pump, but seeing that it’s a woman who’s clearly just trying to go about her business, I let out a breath. I don’t think I can handle any more trouble for one night.
Izaac brings his car to a stop on the other side of the pump next to the woman before discreetly putting my window down just an inch, and despite the emotional whiplash he’s been giving me, I appreciate the thought.
He gets out and I track him like a hawk as he makes his way around to my side of the car, and even though he’s no longer sitting right beside me, I still feel safer than I’ve ever been. He pays for his gas before taking the pump and inserting it into the tank, and as I watch him through the side mirror, he leans back on the back door and props his foot against the side step.
He reaches out, his fingers casually looped over my open window, and as he waits for the tank to fill, I can’t help but notice the woman on the other side. Her gaze flicks between the pump she’s using and Izaac, eating him up in a way I wished I could always do so publicly.
“Wow. I like your car,” she tells him in a blatant attempt to open a flirty conversation.
My gaze narrows, and I immediately look at the woman like some kind of predatory competition. How dare she flirt with him. He’s mine . . . at least . . . kinda. Okay, maybe not at all, but I like to think I have some kind of stake over him, and after the night I’ve had, I doubt he’d argue with me. Though, this is Izaac Banks we’re talking about, and arguing is his favorite thing to do.
I shift my stare back to the side mirror, watching how he responds, and a wicked grin stretches across my face as he simply smiles and nods. “Thanks.”
After knowing him for so long, it’s clear he was just being polite in the hope she’ll get the idea and be on her way, but judging by the way her eyes light up, she thinks she just found her future baby daddy. But like hell I’m about to let that happen, especially right in front of my eyes.
She puts her pump away before stepping around to our side, leaning up against the pump as though she has all night to sit and talk. But if you ask me, she’s just asking for trouble, and not the good kind.
“My ahh . . . brother was looking to buy one,” she says. “How do you like it?”