Leave the Night On by Laura Trentham

Author:Laura Trentham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press

Chapter Twelve

Dusk was falling by the time he picked her up for their “date.” She’d picked out a tight black scoop-necked T-shirt in a thin silky-textured fabric from the boutique and paired it with tight ankle-length jeans and red heels. So far out of the realm of her demure skirts and dresses, the outfit felt like a costume.

The costume of a badass biker chick. She decided to embrace the look.

Wyatt’s eyes had widened and skimmed down her body. His stuttering, “You look good … great … I mean, amazing,” had her throwing her shoulders back and working the heels with confidence.

Until she nearly twisted her ankle on a crack in the pavement.

In the car, she studied his profile, completely beyond her abilities to interpret. He rolled his window halfway down, and she gave up, closing her eyes. The evening air swirled around the cabin, whipping through her hair when they hit the parish road. The smell was distinctly Cottonbloom, river and salt, earthy and elemental.

The Hornet’s engine downshifted, and gravel crunched under the wheels. She opened her eyes and tension trickled down her spine. It was early yet but the lot of the Rivershack Tavern was more than half full. This time she hauled herself out before he could round the bumper to help her.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“A little.”

He shrugged. “New place, new people. Only natural.”

She hummed in agreement even though that’s not what was making her nervous. It was him. The way he smelled fresh like dryer sheets. A scent she’d never thought was sexy but somehow on him, it was unbearably so. And the way he held her elbow as she navigated the gravel lot in her heels. And the way his faded jeans molded his thighs.

The man at the door greeted Wyatt like an old friend, clasping his hand, bumping shoulders, and engaging in a brief discussion about sticky pistons. Throughout the exchange, the man’s gaze kept wandering from Wyatt to her in a way that raised her awareness and hackles.

“Later, Butch.” Was she imagining Wyatt’s cooler than normal tone? She glanced over her shoulder at the man.

“Come on back out and see me if you get bored, sweetheart.” The man perched himself back on the edge of the stool and winked.

She whipped her head back around and leaned closer to Wyatt. “Was he coming on to me?”

“He’s obviously desperate.” His dismissive tone dented her badass biker-chick persona.

A wall of noise hit her on her first step into the tavern. Unintelligible music overlaid with the buzz of conversation and laughter and the click of pool balls. A haze of smoke ringed the lights, but the smell was faint, and she noticed only a handful of people with cigarettes. She took a step toward the pool tables, but Wyatt steered her in the opposite direction.

“How about a drink first?” He led her to a long, dark-stained bar and raised two fingers to get the attention of the lone bartender.

Unlike at the bonfire, she fit right in with the rest of the women, most of whom were in shorts or jeans.

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