Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(61)

A car horn slams through the comfort our lips create. Isaac jerks back, regains control, and moves the car forward. I do not.

The seat back catches my slouched position, cradles my lower back, as I try to understand what happened.

“You OK over there?” Isaac asks. He flicks a wary look at me.

“Yeah,” I whisper. I’m letting the tail lights of the car in front of us mesmerize me.

I am definitely not OK. I can blame last night on tequila. Haha, remember that time you introduced me to tequila and we almost hooked up?

Even the short kiss when we left tonight could be labeled friendly.

But not this. That kiss was us. Isaac and Aubrey.

And the hardest part, the part I can’t stand to think of but won’t stop racing through my mind, is how good, how very right it felt just now.



Whatever I felt for Isaac on the drive here, it’s gone now. It’s just me, him, and this battle. He brought me to this place with games, and now he’s paying the price.

I’m competitive. And not in your average, winning is fun, lighthearted way.

I play to win. Always. It’s why Britt won’t play games with me. She claims I suck all the fun out of it.

“All right, Cordova. Are you ready to be dealt the death-blow?” I’m also a shit-talker when I play games.

Truthfully, my hubris is a bit bloated right now. I’m blaming it on the kiss. My insides are still shaking. His lips were only on mine for a few seconds, but the effect of them lingers. My heart feels too soft right now, and it’s making my outside more prickly than usual.

Isaac cocks an eyebrow from his place on the other side of the Cornhole game. His final bean bag just landed short of the hole, and all I have to do to clinch my victory is make this last shot.

Which I do. It sails through the air in a perfect arc and slips in the hole with almost no sound.

The cheering sounds coming from my cupped mouth are loud and probably annoying, but I don’t care. “Aubrey for the win.” I say in my best sportscaster voice.

Isaac’s laughing and shaking his head. He reaches back to our table and hands me my drink. “To the victor go the spoils.” The tinkling sound of our glasses sends a shiver down my spine.

“And what are the spoils?” I keep my eyes on him as I drink.

Isaac watches me, his eyes evaluating. He doesn’t speak, so I ask my question again.

He steps closer, and the heat in my core starts up. It’s a little annoying that my body does that every time. It would be a lot easier to keep him at arms’ distance if my body would behave.

But with his chest so close to mine…. well, how much harder do I have to work? How much harder do I need to fight?

“To give you the spoils, I think I’ll need about an hour of your time.” His cheek rests against my temple, his words float down to my ear.

“One hour?” My voice squeaks.

I feel his nod. “Are you ready to go home?”

I want to tell him yes, that when his deep voice reverberates against me like that, I’m ready to go almost anywhere with him.

“Um-hmm,” is all I manage to say. He pulls back, looks down at me, and I see what I saw that night in the country bar. A man in need of a woman. But this time, Isaac isn’t in pain.

Am I? Certainly not like I was that night.

The pain is different now. A dull, unrelenting sort. Always there, never dealt with. My shadowy ghost. It beats a steady rhythm, much like my heartbeat.

Maybe I deserve a break from that. Just a brief respite where I can pretend to be whole.

I find my voice. “One hour.” I don’t squeak this time. I sound confident. “And Isaac?” I lift an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” His voice has grown deeper.

“No babies this time.”

He laughs and curls a hand around my hipbone. “Agreed.”

Is this the right decision? Probably not. But I’m tired.

Tired of hurting.

Tired of holding on.

Isaac takes my hand. As soon as we step away, a group of guys claim the bean bags we’ve left on the table. We walk out, Isaac in front, leading me through the crowd. His broad shoulders move with an easy confidence, giving me a feeling of peace and safety.



The air around us changes the second the front door closes. After a long run-down of her evening with Claire, Lucia has finally left.

“You.” Isaac walks toward me, his gait slow. The hungry gleam in his eyes is coming closer…closer…

I gulp. It’s loud, and Isaac smirks.

He reaches me. His hand runs from my shoulder to my wrist, then he pulls back. Disappointment runs through me. “Our one hour starts the second we step foot in my bedroom.”

When he talks, my thighs ache. “Then we’d better get back there.” Lightly I push against his chest. He grins and takes my hand. His steps are steady and quick until we reach the entrance to his bedroom. He pauses, face earnest.

“Aubrey, I respect the hell out of you. I want you to know that. If you change your mind, it’s OK. I’ll understand.”

Could he be any sweeter? Any more caring? My insides are feeling mushy again. “Isaac, stop talking. Seriously.”

He opens his mouth, but before he can speak I wrap my hands around his neck and quiet him with my lips. His weight pushes me through his door. We swing around as one, so that my back closes the door for us. The lock clicks into place, and then his hands are on me, lifting me from the back of my thighs and carrying me to his bed.