His mouth actually curved into a smile this time. “It’s loud.”
“Is that all you do?” Now I really was on a fishing expedition. But I’d warned him.
“Now it is.” I knew there was more to that story, but I didn’t push.
“What do you do?” The question didn’t really surprise me.
“I... don’t know anymore.”
He raised an eyebrow as he read between the lines for the rest of my story. “You scared?”
“Of what? Being unemployed? The car repair? Yeah, a little.”
He shook his head. “No. Those things will sort themselves out. This. Me. Coming to my place.”
I should lie. I should say no, I’m fine, totally comfortable.
But there wasRule #7: Don’t lie—no matter how much the truth hurts. It was one of the few rules I’d actually managed to keep my whole life.
“A little,” I admitted. “Mostly because I’m entirely out of my depth, and also because my mother’s voice in my head is currently on a loop about what I should and shouldn’t do in this type of situation.”
He nodded. “Good.”
“Good?” My voice squeaked. My gut wasn’t sending out any alarms. I looked at him again. Nope. No serial killer vibes.
“It means you’re smart.”
“Smart? I’m thinking maybe I should be scared after all.”
His eyes met mine for a heartbeat before returning to the road. “I’m harmless.”
I gave a little laugh. “I sincerely doubt that.”
He settled back against his seat. The movement drew my eyes to his legs. His thighs. They were thick columns of pure muscle stretching the denim of his jeans to the absolute limit, splayed wide in a way that felt entirely too dominant for the cab of a truck. His…
Nope. Not going there.
At least not yet.
But heaven help me, my thighs clutched together instinctively, a sudden pulse of hot ache flaring up between my legs.
We turned off the main road onto a gravel drive that wound up even further through the trees. The truck climbed steadily, higher and higher, until the forest opened up.
And there it was.
I’d expected a cabin made of logs. Something rustic.
This was not that.
The house was big. And I meant big. Modern. All glass and wood and clean lines, built into the side of the mountain like it had grown there. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the trees and sky. A large wraparound porch that held two rockers and a large swing. It just called for a glass of sweet ice tea on a warm summer day.
My jaw dropped.
“You livehere?”
Bridger drove around to the back and parked in front of the garage—a three-car garage—
and killed the engine. To the side was a large deck that looked like it could hold a football team and then some.