Three Broken Promises (One Week Girlfriend #3)(31)
I can still see the curve of her ass peeking out from those indecently tiny shorts. How she’d looked in her sleep, her long hair down and spread across her pillow, lips parted, eyes closed as she lay on her side. One leg slung on top of the comforter, which was pushed down to her waist. Revealing the tank top she wore, which did nothing to hide what she looks like when she’s not wearing it.
It made me want to dive under those warm, soft covers with her and touch her. Run my hands over her skin and slowly wake her up until she’s a moaning, writhing, needy mess beneath me.
Yeah. Didn’t happen.
We’re quiet during the drive back home, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. Before we even left Sacramento, I turned on the satellite radio I’m addicted to and scrolled through the channels until I found a decent station. The drive isn’t bad, just about ninety minutes, and thankfully traffic isn’t too shitty. Jen falls asleep relatively fast after the occasional glance toward me and I leave her alone, thankful we don’t have to make pointless small talk.
My mind wanders as it usually does when I drive and of course, I think of Jen and what happened today. Is it wrong for me to be glad her interviews didn’t go as well as she’d hoped? It’s not that I don’t believe in her. The girl can do anything she sets her mind to and she’s smart as hell.
But I don’t want her to leave me. God, I’m a selfish prick!
Then prove yourself wrong, man. Prove yourself wrong.
Drew’s words ring in my head, the jackass. I wonder if he realizes how much our talk affected me. I’m running, just like he did before he realized his mistake. Or more like, I’m pushing her away. Doing my best to make us not happen, and now she’s on board with that thought too.
This proves I’m also an ass**le.
The minute we reach the outskirts of town I turn the radio up, hoping to wake her. She stirs, murmuring something unintelligible, and I chance a look at her.
Big mistake.
Jen’s slouched in her seat, her shoes kicked off, her shirt untucked and a few buttons at the top undone, offering me a teasing glimpse of creamy, golden skin. The tops of her br**sts, the white lace of her bra—just seeing that delectable hint of her body makes me break out in a sweat.
I reach over and turn up the air, desperate for some relief.
“I’m freezing,” she murmurs.
I glance in her direction, catch her shivering as she wraps her arms around herself, a weak defense against the blast of cold air. Yeah, she’s wide awake now. “Close the vent,” I suggest, not willing to turn the air conditioner down. I need it to cool down my too heated thoughts.
She does as I tell, her then settles back in her seat. “I can’t believe I slept through practically the entire drive.”
“You were tired.”
“More like stressed.” She curls up in her seat, tucking her legs beneath, her and I’m tempted to tell her that position isn’t very safe, but then I’ll just sound like a naggy old man so I hold myself back. “I can’t believe I have to start this process all over again.”
I stay quiet for a few minutes, navigating the familiar drive through town toward my house. The twilight sky is purple and black, with tiny white stars just starting to twinkle, and all the streetlights flick on, illuminating the road as I speed toward the subdivision.
“You know, I could help you,” I finally say nonchalantly as I turn onto my road. “I plan on opening the Redding location soon. I’ll need someone to assist me and work in the office while I’m gone.”
“No.” Her answer is vehement, downright hostile. She shakes her head. “No way.”
What the ever-loving f**k? “Why the hell not?”
“I refuse to take your handouts any longer.” She sits up straight, uncurling her legs and shoving her feet into those damn sexy high heels. “We’ve had this discussion a million times, Colin. No.”
“And we’ll probably have it a million times more.” I pull into the garage once the door finishes opening and cut the engine, turning to face her. “I don’t know why you won’t take my help any longer. I want to be there for you, Jen. I’m your friend. Let me do this for you.”
“I’m not your charity case, okay?” The words explode from her, shocking the shit out of me, and I lean away from her, my back pressed against the driver’s-side door. “I won’t take your little scraps of help because you feel some sort of twisted guilt over what happened to my brother. Danny’s been dead for two years. Two freaking years. You act like you’re the one who threw the bomb that killed him and I don’t get it!”
I open my mouth, ready to say the same old shit in defense, but she cuts me off, calling me on it.
“I don’t want to hear it. It’ll just be the same thing you always say. That you don’t mind. That you do it for my family, that you do it because of the guilt you carry, which is ridiculous. Save it for someone who’ll actually believe you.”
“I broke promises. To you, to your parents, to your brother. I don’t want to break any more,” I say, but she’s not listening.
Jen pushes open the door and climbs out of the car without another word, slamming the door so hard it reverberates through the garage, rattling the metal doors.
Without thought I climb out of the car and follow her inside, my head pounding, my blood roaring hot and fast through my veins. I try and help her out and she throws my generosity in my face. I’m sick of it. Hell, I’m sick of myself.