Page 31 of Wild Fire

It’s the way his words soften, the sadness etched in them. Something about it resonates with me on a level I can’t explain.

“You don’t have to,” I say. “You’ve done enough already, I—”

AJ glances at the space between us, and I’m acutely aware of how small it is.

He’s a big guy—not huge or anything, but he definitely takes up more space than I do, despite us being almost equal in height. But it’s not just his body, or the small seating in his car. I think it’s just him. His personality, his presence. He’s impossible to ignore, impossible to resist staring at. My eyes feel drawn to him, and I find it hard to tear my gaze away.

“Maybe I want to,” he says, his voice taking on that darker tone again, and gone is the soft moment of vulnerability.

A low sigh escapes me. There are so many things I could say to him. Witty things. Humorous responses. Hell, I could just tell him to punch in Lacey’s address and take me home and something tells me he wouldn’t argue or press the issue, and he’d do it. No questions asked.

Just like he said if I ever needed a ride home from a bar or club, he’d come get me, no questions asked. And then he put his number in my phone without asking. He just grabbed it and did it.

Those things should bother me, but… they don’t.

Not in the way they should, anyway. One word falls out of my mouth, and I know the moment I say it, I’m exposing myself, and as much as I hate it, my curiosity outweighs my self preservation.

“Why?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “Why the hell are you doing this?”

There’s a strange sort of silence between us. It’s not uncomfortable or tense, but it’s charged, nonetheless. AJ’s gaze dips from my eyes to my mouth, where it hovers for just a second.

Almost like he’s thinking about kissing me or something, but I know that’s just wishful thinking. Aside from a few comments, he hasn’t really given me any indication he’s into me. Or guys, in general. I could be way off base. I could be spiraling and looking for things that clearly aren’t there because I am indeed a hot mess, and need a distraction from all the chaos right now.

And that’s when I realize the space between us has closed and his thigh is brushing against mine. I have the strangest impulse to set my hand on his, but I don’t. I don’t want to make things weird, and right now with the way he’s looking at me, the scent of his smokey-cedar cologne filling my lungs, things are definitely weird.

“Maybe I want to,” he says carefully, his gaze drifting back to mine. “Maybe I like helping people.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Is that your kink? Helping people?”

I bite my lip as his lips turn up in the corner like he wants to smile but thinks better of it.

“No,” he says carefully as he pulls up the screen for his GPS.

And just like that, the tension disappears and his expression shifts, and it’s like he’s someone else.

He grins and gestures to the GPS. “Where to, Princess?”

I cross my arms and scoff at him.

“I am not—”

“You are my passenger, in my truck, are you not?” He smirks.

“Yes, but—”

“Then you’re my passenger Princess for the evening, Princess. So deal with it.”

His tone is some mix of dark, raspy, and sarcastic. It’s weirdly sexy, if sarcasm laced with cockiness is a kink. Maybe it is, I don’t fucking know. Apparently humiliation is, according to AJ. I don’t know who the hell would find dying of embarrassment sexy, but my mother always said there’s a lid for every pot, so I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised.

AJ’s voice, juxtaposed with his inviting gaze, his stupid fucking biceps that are demanding to be stared at in that tiny, tight-fitting black shirt he’s wearing…

Fucking hell, AJ is irritatingly hot and it’s pissing me off.

And maybe turning me on a little, too, which only makes me feel more agitated. I don’t know what it is about the man that makes me feel this way, but I can’t help it. I’m not the kind of person who likes to argue. I avoid conflict because the thought of it makes me anxious and the last thing I want is someone to be mad at me or worse—make my life a living hell because I pissed them off. But Mr. Hot Stuff seems to know just what buttons to press to get me all hot and bothered in more ways than one.

“Now, be a good boy and put in the address of your current digs and stop fucking pouting.”

His words only make me want to pout harder, as if that’s a thing.