The Finish Line by Leslie Scott

Author:Leslie Scott [Scott, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, contemporary, Texas, abuse suvivor
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2017-11-17T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Jordan took the long way home, with the windows down and the stereo blaring. We both needed it, I think. Jordan to help scab over the wounds we’d ripped raw and me to settle into this new knowledge of who he was.

Who we were.

I played with the charm around my neck. I did it without any of the self-loathing I had before. He’d given me freedom, he was teaching me to love myself again and didn’t even realize it.

I studied him, from the muscles that ran up his shoulder and neck, to the sharp line of his jaw, and the strong high cheekbones. He was masculine and beautiful. I’d never had the freedom to study him, to watch him. I’d always been too afraid he’d catch me, that he’d know I was doing it. It was exciting. My arousal built. I knew now what his face looked like flushed with passion, how his lips tasted when they were swollen from kisses.

When I squirmed beside him on the bench seat, the corner of his mouth curled. “You make it really difficult to be a nice guy with you looking at me like that.”

The past two things he’d said to me had rendered me speechless. It was impressive.

“It’s okay to trust me,” he said as he turned down the radio.

“That’s not it.” I made a face. “I can’t think of anything to say when you say things like that.”

“Wow, Raelynn Casey speechless?” His face brightened in mock surprise.

I nudged him with my elbow. “Bite me.” The laugh died on my lips when I caught the heat in his eyes. There had never been another guy that could scramble up my thoughts with just a look.

I was still rattled by the punch of arousal when we pulled up to the red light outside The Rooster Barn. If you pictured the most sketchy, rundown hellhole of a bar in Texas and then thought worse…that would be The Rooster. The floors are sticky, the beer is hot, and the whiskey is watered down.

If you ever found yourself in The Rooster, don’t ask for ice because the machine hasn’t been cleaned since it was installed in 1977. The people who owned it were notorious white trash. The crowd that hung out there required extra hard-ass security guards. I’d only been inside once and vowed to never go back. Even with my brother and his friends, I still hadn’t been totally safe. I’d stick with Felt, Arkadia’s pool hall, any day of the week.

I sneered at it with distaste when an old, busted-up Trans-Am pulled into the lane beside us. There was a blower that stuck up a foot from the rusted hood. Which told me he probably paid more money for the motor than the car itself. Sleepers, we called them.

The driver was older, in his late thirties, and well into a six pack. Sleeper or no sleeper, he wasn’t a match for Jordan and the sixty-five. One look at Jordan and I could tell he knew it too.

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