Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Adam

"I'm not sure I made the smartest shoe decision this evening," Laney says, glancing down at her feet.

We're in the driveway at the rescue, and I can't drive the four-by-four I usually use to get around because it has a flat tire I haven't fixed yet.

"Want to just wait on the porch? I'll bring Ringo to you," I say.

Laney frowns and props her hands on her hips. "And see only one puppy when I could see eight?" She shakes her head, then takes hold of my arm, using me to steady herself as she reaches down and pulls off her shoes. "This will work. I'll just walk barefoot."

"You aren't walking barefoot. It's dark, and the grass is in need of a good mowing. You could step on a snake or a tick or get chigger bites."

She holds up her shoes. "Um. These sandals would not protect me against any of those things. "

"Still. I don't want you to get hurt." I reach for her shoes and set them on the edge of the porch, then crouch down in front of her. "Jump on."

"You're going to piggyback me all the way to the barn?"

"It's not that far."

She huffs, but then she slips her hands onto my shoulders, and jumps. I catch her legs, adjusting until she's comfortably on my hips, her feet dangling on either side. Her toenails are painted light blue, something I hadn't noticed until right now.

"Are you dying?" she asks.

"Totally comfortable." I head off toward the barn. Between the property's floodlights and the moonlight overhead, I can see the grassy path easily enough, but I take it a little slower than normal anyway, just to be safe.

"You don't have to pretend like I'm not heavy," Laney says, her voice close to my ear. "The women in my family are built to last."

I chuckle. "What does that mean?"

"It means we have dense bones. We're quarter horses, not thoroughbreds."

"I don't know anything about horses, but I think I know what you mean?"

"My grandmother, my mom, both of my aunts, me and my sister—none of us have ever broken a bone. And doctors are always surprised by how much we weigh."

I pause and shift Laney a little higher on my back. "That…explains a lot," I say, pretending to strain.

She lets out a gasp and wiggles like she's trying to get down, but I hold on tightly. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding, I promise! You don't feel heavy at all."

She leans forward, laughing as her arms circle a little more tightly around my neck. I catch the scent of honeysuckle on her hair, and it's all I can do not to breathe in an obvious lungful of Laney-scented air.

"You're very funny, Mr.—" She pauses. "Actually, it just occurred to me that I don't know your last name."

"It isn't in my chart at your office?"

"Probably somewhere, but the main part just lists the rescue."

I force myself to relax, to keep my movements steady as I cross the last few yards to the barn door. Driscoll isn't a super unusual last name, so I'm not normally nervous about telling people what it is. But Laney is a Midnight Rush fan, and Deke was her favorite. I can't be sure she won't notice the commonality.

Not that it will mean anything. A lot of people have the last name Driscoll.

Then again, if she does make the connection, maybe this would be a good time to tell her the truth.

The thought almost makes me queasy.

Tonight has been good. So good. We've talked and joked and laughed, and the chemistry has been amazing. We click intellectually, which is possibly the sexiest thing about her, but the physical chemistry is intense too.

I haven't stopped thinking about kissing her since dessert, when, like an idiot, I flung crème br?lée onto her face and then touched her lip to wipe it off. Her skin was soft, and her mouth parted the slightest bit at the contact and… yeah. It's bad. And now, carrying her across the lawn, having so much of her touching so much of me is only making it worse.

I'm hyper aware of every contact point between us. The warm skin on her legs pressing into my palms, the heat of her body against my back, her arms resting loosely across my chest where they're wrapped around my neck. She's comfortable with me—I can tell. Things are easy between us.

What if telling her ruins all that?

It's not that I think she'll care, exactly. But I do think it might make things weird. That it could make her nervous or make her overthink things like I'm overthinking now.

I'm positive it will make her ask questions, and I can't think of anything that would ruin the night faster than having to wade through all the drama surrounding my departure from the band. It's the last way I'd like to end our date.

Still. I can't lie to her.

And that thought is more important than all the others.

So I'll tell her. If she brings up the fact that I share a last name with her favorite boyband member, I'll own it. Admit everything.

"It's Driscoll," I say as casually as I can. We reach the barn, and I do a half-squat to lower Laney's feet to the smooth concrete landing outside the door.

"Adam Driscoll," she repeats once she's steady on her feet. "I like that name."

That's it. That's all she says.

I shouldn't feel so relieved, because I should tell Laney the truth.

And I will. I absolutely will.

Just not yet.

I make fast work of unlocking the door and sliding it open, then I turn on the interior lights. The puppies are almost entirely weaned at this point, so they're spending good chunks of the day away from their mom, but they're all together at night, in an oversized kennel near the front of the barn.

When I converted the barn into a rescue space, I hoped to keep as much of the original wood as possible, simply converting stalls into kennels. But the more I learned about keeping dogs healthy and safe and clean, the less of a good idea that seemed. Laney's dad was the one who finally convinced me to have new epoxy floors put in and keep the spaces for the dogs as minimalist as possible. There are still wooden rafters overhead, but everything else in the barn is clean and modern and practical.

At least I don't have to worry about Laney's bare feet in here.

But then, something tells me Laney wouldn't care either way.

The minute we're inside the kennel with the puppies, she's sitting on the floor, legs out in front of her and ankles crossed like she doesn't have a care in the world. The puppies are crawling all over her, and she's smiling wide as she reaches for Ringo.

I run to the supply room by the door and grab an old blanket. "Here," I say, unfolding it as I walk back. "At least sit on this."

She dutifully shifts over and lets me spread out the blanket, then scoots so her back is against the wall, Ringo tucked against her chest.

"I love him," she says as he leans up and licks the bottom of her chin.

"Then he's yours," I say.

She bites her lip. "I'll have to put up a fence in my backyard."

"I'll help you build it," I say .

She lifts an eyebrow. "What if my backyard is enormous?"

"I'll…hire a crew to help you build it."

She lets out a laugh. "So there are limits to what you can do. I was beginning to think you were perfect."

I sit down beside her and pick up the closest puppy—Diana. "How big of a yard are we talking? I didn't say I couldn't build the entire thing. I'm just saying I wouldn't be opposed to a more efficient method."

"It's actually pretty small," she says. She leans her shoulder into mine and settles there, the warmth of her filtering through the thin fabric of my shirt. "Maybe a quarter of an acre? And there's already a fence along one side. It wouldn't take much to fence in the rest."

"I'm all you need, then. I could knock that out in a weekend."

She yawns, and I glance at my watch. It's just after ten, but she probably got up early. I should get her home sooner than later. "Consider yourself hired," she says.

Diana crawls off my lap and sniffs at Laney's toes, then wanders back to the bed, where Aretha is softly snoring. It's actually nice visiting the puppies this late. They're definitely more chill when they're sleepy.

"When are they ready for adoption?" Laney asks. "I can't remember how old they are."

"Eight weeks tomorrow," I say. "But I'm keeping them until they're twelve. My trainers are working on crate and house training over the next couple weeks, plus basic obedience commands. I like to send them home with a good foundation."

"Trainers? On staff? Or just volunteers? That sounds amazing. "

"A little of both? There are a couple of trainers in town whom I hire to come out a few times a week. As for volunteers, the ag science program at the high school keeps kids coming on a regular basis. I worked it out with the administration. They get service hours and extra credit, and I get a lot of help."

Laney scoops up another puppy—George, I think?—but he's squirmy and won't settle, so she lets him go and he wiggles his way over to me, where he latches onto the cuff of my sleeve with his tiny puppy teeth.

"Okay. Time out for you," I say, picking him up and setting him back on the floor next to his mom.

Laney's quiet for a beat before she asks, "Can I ask you a totally invasive, outrageously personal question that you absolutely don't have to answer unless you want to?"

I will my muscles to relax. "Go for it," I say. "But I'm not telling you how many hair products I use on my beard. Or anything about the cats in the freezer."

"I mean…in my line of work, cats in the freezer aren't entirely unheard of, so if you're looking for shock value, try again."

I tsk with disappointment. "I should have just gone with bodies in the freezer."

She laughs. "That might have done it. But for real more than one product on your beard? Or were you making that up too?"

I lift a hand and rub it down my beard. "It takes a lot to keep it this soft."

She reaches over and lifts a hand to my face, sliding it along my jaw.

I lean into her touch without thinking, like there's some kind of gravitational force that triggers whenever we're close. Just close isn't good enough. I want closer. More. Anything she'll give me.

"You're right. That is pretty soft." Her thumb lingers on the edge of my lip and she tugs it down for a brief second before her hand falls away and she smirks. "Now we're even," she whispers.

I immediately know what she means. I touched her lip the same way at dinner, and the air crackled with the same kind of heat and tension. If this is the game we're playing, teasing, pushing boundaries, trading touches and looks, then send me in, coach.

I swallow and force myself to look in her eyes, but then she licks her lips, pulling my gaze downward, and I start to lose my resolve. It's impossible not to notice the way her teeth are tugging at her bottom lip, or the curve of her neck as it slopes down to her shoulder. There's a tiny chain holding a circle studded with pale blue stones in the hollow of her throat, and it rises and falls with her breathing, which appears to be as shallow and fast paced as mine.

I have never wanted to kiss someone as much as I want to kiss her, but there's something holding me back.

It could be that we're sitting on a cold epoxy floor with nothing but a thin blanket underneath us. But… dammit. That's not it.

I need to tell her before I can kiss her.

I need to tell her about Deke.

I don't know why I feel like I do, but it feels important. Necessary.

It has never felt important before. I haven't dated a ton in the past few years, and it's only ever been casual. A few dates here and there. I've never been tempted or felt any sort of obligation to come clean about Midnight Rush. A relationship never lasted long enough for it to matter.

But this thing with Laney…it's different. Even one date in, I can already tell.

When I kiss her, everything is going to change.

And I don't want there to be any secrets between us when that happens.

I drop my gaze and lean away so we're no longer touching, forcing a deep breath.

Laney must feel the shift, because she moves too, pulling her arms a little closer around herself.

"So you were going to ask me something?" I say. My voice sounds loud in the stillness, and I suddenly wonder how long we just sat, staring at each other, not kissing.

She clears her throat. "Was I?"

"Something outrageously personal?"

"Oh! Right. I was just going to ask how you fund Hope Acres. Most nonprofits like this one are constantly fighting to keep their doors open, but this place is beautiful, and I don't really get the vibe that you're struggling to pay the bills."

It's a valid question with a complicated answer, and it could easily steer us into talking about Midnight Rush, but Laney yawns again at the end of her sentence. I don't want to start this conversation now, and I don't want to have it on a cold floor. So I settle for telling her a partial truth.

"I have some personal investments that have done pretty well," I say simply. "I mostly fund Hope Acres on my own, but we also get donations from people who have adopted and a few businesses around Lawson Cove. Your dad makes a regular donation."

"Does he?" she asks. "He still handles all the financial stuff, so I didn't know that. "

"He does. Every quarter."

She yawns again, and this time her head drops onto my shoulder. "My dad's a pretty good guy."

"He is, but I like my current vet better."

When she doesn't respond, just lets out an easy, "Hmm," I decide to call it.

"Okay, sleepy head. Let's get you home."

She snuggles Ringo a little closer. "I don't want to say goodbye to him."

"Trust me. You'll love him more if he's mostly housebroken before you get him. You only have to wait a few more weeks."

She sits up and holds Ringo out to me. "Fair enough."

I move Ringo over to the dog bed, where the rest of his siblings have already curled up with their mom, then offer Laney a hand, pulling her to her feet.

The piggyback ride to the car and then the drive back to her house are mostly quiet, but it's a comfortable silence instead of an awkward one. I think she might even doze a little during the drive.

I like that she's relaxed enough that she can sleep—that she feels safe with me.

"I had a really nice time tonight," she says when we're standing at her door, bathed in the soft yellow glow of her porch light.

"Yeah, me too." I reach for her hand and tug her close, wrapping my arms around her. It's just a hug—or it's just supposed to be a hug—but my body ignites at the feel of her against me. Before I realize what I'm doing, my hands are on her face and my forehead is pressed against hers, my heart hammering as I feel the exhale of her breath on my lips.

"Adam, I really want you to kiss me goodnight," she says .

I breathe out a sigh. "I really want to kiss you goodnight. But…"

She leans back and looks up to meet my eye, her expression curious. "But?"

"But I'm not…ready to kiss you yet."

Her mouth opens like she might say something, but then she closes it again, pausing before finally saying, "Oh."

"Trust me. It's not that I don't want to. I do. But…next time, okay?"

She nods, but I can see the confusion in her hazel eyes, mixed with what looks like a little bit of hurt.

"Laney, this has been the best first date I've ever been on. The best date period . I promise…there will be a next time."

She offers a hesitant smile. "I would really love that."

I would too.

Which means now, I just have to tell her who I am.