28. Hunter

"I'm gonna need you to get over here and help me stop the truck," Levi informs me through gritted teeth.

His face is ashen and his jaw is rigid with pain, but I don't understand what the hell is happening right now.

"What's wrong?" I demand, already releasing my seat belt.

"It'll be okay," he assures me. His breathing is labored, totally contradicting his calm tone. "Just don't freak out."

"Levi Moore," I say, my heart rate ratcheting up. "Tell me what is happening right now."

Doesn't he know telling someone not to freak out is a guaranteed way to make sure they will, in fact, freak out?

"My leg's cramping," he says, grimacing in pain.

"Your injured leg?" I ask, peering over the center console to get a peek at it.

"No," he grunts. "My whole right quad is cramping. I'm afraid if I put pressure on my left leg, I'll reinjure it."

"Oh gosh. No. Please don't do that," I urge, shifting fully his way and popping up on my knees.

"I'm gonna need you to slide over here and press down on the brake for me, nice and easy."

Okay. That makes sense. I can do this. We've got this.

Gingerly, I climb over the center console while Levi keeps the truck steady. We're picking up speed as we coast downhill, and I've driven on these back roads enough to know this straightaway won't be straight much longer.

I take care to hover over Levi's body as best as I can.

"I don't want to hurt you," I mutter, wondering if I can squeeze myself between the center console and his body.

"Just sit," he grunts.

He's a big guy, and there's not enough room for us to sit side by side in the front seat, so I lower carefully.

"Fuckin' hell," he grits out when my ass brushes his thigh.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, shifting my weight so I can reach the brake from this angle.

"It's fine," he says, though his tone tells me he's anything but fine.

His whole body is wound tightly as I invade his personal space. We're so close that the notes of cedar and peaches I've come to associate with grown-up Levi curl around me and ease my fear a fraction.

I find the brake—finally—but in my haste, I compress it so hard the truck jerks, and I land squarely in Levi's lap.

"Nice and easy," he says, his lips an inch from my ear.

With a slow breath out, I compress the brake again, more gently this time.

"Yes. We've got this. You're doing great, Hunter."

How the hell is he the one reassuring me?

Levi keeps hold of the steering wheel with one hand and hits the blinker with the other, then wraps his right arm around my middle and readjusts.

As we come to a crawl and he edges the truck onto the gravel shoulder, he says, "Don't stop yet." His voice is calmer now, the timbre low. His breath is warm on my ear. He's so impossibly close. "Get us a little farther up ahead," he instructs, steering the truck where he wants it.

I ease off the brake so we continue to roll forward and focus on breathing evenly and calming my heart rate.

His chin grazes over my shoulder when he nods. "Right here."

Once we're completely stopped, I put the truck in park and close my eyes.

"Fucking hell," he groans again, resting his forehead against my back. He blows out a long exhale that warms my skin through my shirt.

Hands gripping the steering wheel, I lift up, careful not to hurt him, preparing to move back to my seat.

He stops me by tightening his hold on my torso. "Just give me a minute," he pleads, his voice shaky.

It's got to hurt to have me sitting on his leg like this. But if he's still cramping, sudden movements could make it worse, right? Shifting to his left leg isn't an option. Not only is his five-inch incision healing, but so is the muscle beneath.

Dammit. I hope whatever just happened doesn't negatively impact the progress he's—

"Shh…" he soothes.

"I didn't say anything," I snap back.

A soft chuckle rolls through his chest, shaking my body in the process. "I can hear you thinking."

"Are you okay?" I demand.

He relaxes back in his seat, his hand splayed over my stomach.

Though my heart is still pounding against my sternum, relief washes over me.

"Fuck, yeah," he says, his tone far lighter than it's been since this incident began. "The charley horse is over now. I'm so sorry I lost control like that. Are you okay?"

He slides his big hands over my shoulders, urging me back until I'm leaning against his chest.

I let him guide me, then tip my head to meet his gaze. "I'm okay," I promise.

With his hands still in place, he watches me, and I watch him in return, our hearts hammering in our respective chests.

I blow out a long exhale, willing my body to settle.

It's adrenaline. That has to be what I'm feeling.

"Hey," Levi says, running his hands up and down my upper arms.

I'm wearing an off-the-shoulder sweater, so the tops of my arms are bare. Each time his fingertips tickle the skin, another little shudder rolls through me.

"You're okay. We're okay now," he assures me.

It's not the situation with the truck that has me shaky, though.

It's the situation happening right now.

Sharing breath with Levi. Sitting in his lap. Soaking in the heat of his body pressed to mine, yearning to be closer.

"We're safe, we're okay, we're okay," he repeats, his blue eyes set on me in concern and his gaze honest and sincere.

I nod, but I don't trust myself to speak. Not with the way my body reacts each time I inhale his sweet and spicy scent. Or with the electricity that courses through me when his fingertips brush over my skin.

"Hunter. Tell me you're okay," he demands.

When I don't answer immediately, he scoops up my legs and cradles me in his lap.

"Leev," I protest, dropping an elbow to the console to take weight off his lap. The way he's holding me won't solve my current predicament, that's for damn sure.

"Hush," he admonishes. "You're allowed to feel whatever you need to feel, Daisy."

What I feel is heady attraction. A magnetic pull that grows with each shared breath. Every cell in my body is humming the same desperate pleas: More. Closer. Now. Please.

I nuzzle into the soft fabric of his long-sleeve T-shirt to hide my visceral reaction. It's a pretty aquamarine green, not unlike the South Chapel school color.

Breath held—literally, because I do not need a reminder of how good he smells—I do my best not to let his essence wash over me or fuel my libido any further.

After a few more seconds, I pull myself together and lift my head.

"I'm good now, I swear." I offer him a tight-lipped smile, hoping like hell he can't read me like an open book. Like an open, smutty, deliciously spicy book.

Levi's not looking down at me like I expected him to be. In fact, by the hard set of his jaw and the way his eyes are darting around the cab of the truck, he's doing everything in his power to not meet my gaze. Moments ago, he was holding me to him, but now, he's got one arm resting on the open windowsill and the other on the center console.

"Wait, are you okay?" I ask, my stomach sinking. I was so caught up in my own head—or maybe my own vulva—I didn't think to check in with him.

That was scary. Adrenaline must be blasting through his veins like rocket fuel.

"Levi," I press, cupping his jaw with one hand and forcing him to look at me. "Answer me. Are. You. Okay?"

"Uh, yeah," he rasps, far too quickly. Then he lowers his head to hide his face behind the brim of his hat. "I'm good, I swear."

Okay, then…

"Does your leg hurt?"

"Leg's fine," he grunts.

"Does your other leg hurt?" Maybe I'm being a bit of a mother hen, but something's clearly wrong, and he's giving me nothing to work with here.

He sighs, a long, exasperated exhale. Then he lifts his ball cap, runs one hand through his hair, and places the hat back on his head. Instead of looking at me, he sets his sights out the windshield.

We're pulled over far enough that the truck is semi-hidden from view of the road.

Not a single car has passed since we eased off the road anyway. These back roads are rarely busy.

"Levi," I plead. "You can talk to me. What's wrong?"

He lets out a self-deprecating laugh that fills the cab. "Fucking hell. Nothing's wrong," he huffs. His cheeks flush as he works overtime to avoid making eye contact.

Changing tack, I put a hand to his chest and ask, "What can I do to help you, then?"

He shifts back like he's trying to make space that doesn't exist. "Just get back in your seat so I can drive home."

Wait—what?

This sudden coldness is a shock, and I don't like his tone.

"Hunter," he warns, tipping his chin toward the passenger seat. "Just do it."

I raise one eyebrow, but I don't budge. "Seriously?"

His nostrils flare in response to my challenge.

It's cute when he's huffy.

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life," he declares.

Why the hell is he being so dramatic? Whatever the reason, he might as well have just flipped a switch in my brain.

Brat Mode activated.

Arms crossed over my chest, I lift my chin. "What if I don't want to get back over in the passenger seat?"

With a harsh breath in, he studies me through narrowed eyes. "Then we're gonna have a real situation on our hands."

I purse my lips. "Oh yeah? And what kind of situation would that be?"

He exhales, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. His entire face is beet red now—from the dimple in his cheek to the tips of both ears. "You really want to know?"

"Try me."

"Well, Daisy. There's not a polite way to explain it, so I'll just come out with it. I haven't been able to get it up since my surgery, but my cock is rock hard right now with you sitting in my lap."