Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

CHARLIE

Nothing good ever came out of someone saying they wanted to talk. Combine that with what looked like regret in Tate’s gaze, and my inclination to flee to parts unknown was overwhelming.

The only thing that kept me from running out to my truck, and driving straight to Texas, had been the tenderness he’d shown me as he kissed each of my fingers, proceeding to sit right next to me.

Now, here we were, a few hours later, my luggage having been brought in, and we had changed into comfier lounging clothes. Tate had also ordered us some dinner and we’d eaten it in awkward silence. Despite our conversation on keeping things platonic, after that disastrous yet explosive heavy petting session of ours, I had absolutely no idea where in tarnation we sat in the grand scheme of things. For good reason.

Sure, we could blame it on the fact I was exhausted from my drive from Charlotte. The emotional roller coaster I’d been on since my arrival could be considered a contributing factor to my muddled brain as well, and my head felt as though some tiny, little being was hacking away with a dull chisel at my cranium, even after having taken a painkiller. Add to all the above, and here I was, processing the cease-and-desist Tate and I had agreed to, but the man’s behavior certainly had been more than amicable since we’d put a halt on things. Sure, we were undeniably attracted to one another, but nothing could happen. And instead of keeping his distance, the man couldn’t seem to stop touching me—a hand on my thigh, a tuck of a hair strand, a dab at the edge of my mouth thanks to the saucy wings we’d pigged out on. They were all sweet gestures, but they were maddening all at once. And the masochist that I am, I soaked up every drop he had on offer.

Case in point, our current positioning on the couch—the man had pulled me into his side, forcing me to lean onto his chest to watch a freaking movie!

“You should go to bed,” Tate whispered after a while, buffing his cheek against the crown of my head. “I know your head hurts.”

“I’m okay,” I mumbled, closing my eyes as Die Hard droned on in the background. I listened as Hans Gruber called John McClane a cowboy and the latter’s “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker,” rebuttal, netting a quiet giggle from me.

“What?” I could feel Tate smiling against my hair.

“Love that line,” I mumbled against his chest, his response simply to squeeze me closer to him, his hand covering mine, which had been resting on his chest.

The feeling of being carried had me opening my eyes in tiny slits. The lights were turned off, except for a sliver of brightness emanating from beneath the hallway bathroom door. Softness engulfed my body as I was lowered to what must have been a mattress—one that smelled so much like Tate.

Just as I expected to hear the telltale click of the bedroom door, denoting his departure, the mattress dipped at my side.

“Tate—What are?—”

“Shh,” he said softly, urging me to turn onto my side. The moment I did, he pulled up the bedsheets he must have turned down earlier, then spooned me close from behind.

“Tate?” You get why I’m confused, and why, throughout the evening and night, how I couldn’t help but wonder if the man had changed his mind?

“Good night, precious,” Tate whispered just as his lips pressed tenderly against the side of my head.

Cue the swoon.

You’re a goddamn pushover, Charlie Marie Adams, I scolded myself internally.

Resolving to have another talk with Tate tomorrow, to figure out what was going on with the mixed messages he’d been throwing my way all evening, when we’d agreed to keep things platonic, I decided to indulge my inner teenage crush and settled into Tate Corbin’s arms.

Tate

Glancing at the beautiful, warm, soft, and pliant woman curled up with the pillow I’d lain on only an hour before, I shut the door behind me.

The slight click of the latch loaned to such finality. Feeling bereft, confused, frustrated, and terrified—not to mention, guilty—my feet took me toward the front door, and my truck.

My family awaited.

My mother’s life hung in the balance.

And my heart?

Some of it would remain with the precious being sleeping soundly in my bed, most likely to never want to have anything to do with me again.

Putting my truck in drive, I cast one last lingering look at my front door from my rearview mirror, praying I was wrong, because if I wasn’t, she’d be my biggest regret yet.

The end (for now)