Slow Play (The Rules #3)(88)

“You ready?” I ask her quietly.

She nods and I take her arm, leading her out of the house and toward my car. The cold air bites into my exposed skin, making me shiver and I hustle her pretty ass down the sidewalk, practically shoving her into the passenger seat before I go round the car and climb into the driver’s side.

“It’s freezing,” she says as I start the car, then lean over to crank up the heat.

“Turn on the seat warmer,” I remind her and she does, then reaches over and turns mine on too.

Always taking care of me. Watching out for me. Who knew that was a benefit to a relationship? I guess I should’ve known. It’s a natural assumption for most. But the main relationship I witnessed growing up was more like two people living side by side—not actually with each other. My parents just went through the motions. I never saw an ounce of affection between them. Ever.

But every little thing Alexandria does for me, whether it’s bringing me a glass of water or tucking a blanket around me when I complain I’m cold, is because she cares.

She cares about me.

My parents care because they have to—it’s an obligation. My family and friends barely tolerate me. I knew it too, so I purposely drove them crazy, almost like I dared them to stick around even though I’m a pain in the ass.

Not Alexandria. She cares about me because she wants to, because for some insane reason, she likes me. Wants to spend time with me and take care of me and kiss me and hug me and lets me touch her whenever I want. She’s shown me true friendship and true intimacy, something I didn’t think could exist, especially together.

With my angel, I have both. I’m a lucky man.

So why do I always feel like I’m on the verge of saying or doing the wrong thing and ruining what we have?

Shaking my head, I tell myself to focus on the here and now. I’ve got her in my car, she’s my date for this lame holiday party and we’re going to have a good time, damn it.

She talks about her workday as I drive us to the hotel where the party’s being held. She’d wanted the day off but her boss asked her to come in for a few hours in the morning since they’re been so busy with the holiday rush. Being the nice girl Alex is, she did.

I’m not paying close attention to what she’s saying. More like I’m entranced with the lilting sound of her voice. It’s soft at times, goes higher when she gets excited, a little lower when she’s irritated. She describes the usual mix of annoying customers, sweet old ladies and lots of random shoppers in search of the perfect Christmas gift.

“You’re not too tired?” I ask her when she’s done telling her story. “We can leave early if you want.” I’m cool with leaving early, especially considering what she’s wearing. I want to rush her back home and get her in my bed. Or maybe push her against a wall first and run my hands up her legs. Beneath her skirt, find out exactly what she’s wearing underneath there…

“No, I’ll be all right.” I glance in her direction to find her smiling at me. “I’m nervous but excited to go.”

“Shep and Gabe will be there.” Thank Christ.

“I know. Jade texted me earlier asking what I was wearing.”

“Did you tell her it was something indecent?” I raise my brows.

Alexandria laughs. “It’s not indecent. The skirt is kind of short but not that bad.”

“It’s bad. But I’m a fan of bad.” I reach over and rest my hand on her bare thigh. Her skin is cold and she startles at my first touch. “You’re like ice, baby.” I run my hand up and down her leg, my fingers curving around her inner thigh. “You need to warm up.”

“It’s cold out there.” She rests her hand over mine, stopping my progress. “Are you trying to find out if I’m wearing any panties?”

My cock perks up at that question. “Are you?” I hope so because her dress is damn short. She doesn’t need to be flashing her goods at any other guy at the party. I’m the only one allowed to see her goods.

Then again, maybe it’s a good thing she isn’t wearing any because holy hell, that’ll drive me insane, being stuck at the party for the next couple of hours. Making small talk all the while knowing my girl is walking around the room panty less.

Shit. I’m actually breaking out in a sweat contemplating the possibilities. Reaching out, I switch off the seat warmer, then turn down the heat.

“Kelli said I shouldn’t.”

Fucking Kelli. I want to both throttle and thank her for the suggestion. “Did you take her advice?”

“No,” she admits softly. “Did you see how short this dress is? It’s ridiculous.”

I chuckle and reluctantly remove my hand from her thigh. “Says the girl who claimed her skirt wasn’t that bad.”

“Fine, it’s bad. But it covers up everything else. At least I’m not flashing my boobs. Not that I have much boob to flash.”

“They’re perfect.” She’s perfect. I chance another glance at her to find she’s staring at her chest, smoothing the front of her dress down, fidgeting in her seat. In constant motion, like she’s seriously agitated. “Stop worrying. They’re all going to love you.”

Probably too much. They’ll leer at her and say something inappropriate that’ll piss me off. I’m prepared to hear a lot of shit talk. I’ve done my fair share over the years. I loved nothing more than to give a fellow frat brother endless grief for getting tied down with one girl. Could never imagine wanting to do the same.