So, yeah. It’s a bad idea, but I’m still going.
I’m testing fate, because I stalled long enough that I’m now late. He may just assume I’m not coming and leave. And that would be fine.
I take the side streets there. It’s been an hour since Cole’s text, and when I arrive, the Dairy Queen is closed. The parking lot is empty.
Except for the old classic Ford truck parked in the back corner.
My heart starts hammering. He waited an extra thirty minutes to see if I’d show.
Cole slides out of the driver’s side, his moves languid and graceful for such a big guy. Anger radiates from him.
I falter, then stop.
Cole stops, too, leaving three feet of space between us, like he sees I’m scared and doesn’t want to freak me out. “You walked here from home? Christ, Pink, are you nuts? You do know it’s eleven at night, right?”
My brows shoot up in surprise. He’s mad I walked? Not that I’m late or that he thought I wasn’t coming?
“I don’t drive,” I tell him.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know.” Now he steps in closer, which is exactly where my body wants him to be. He tilts his head to the side. “Why is that, Pink?”
I shake my head. I’m definitely not discussing it with him. I must’ve unconsciously rubbed my tattoo because he grabs my wrists to stop the movement and examines the Catrina skull. In full Day of the Dead tradition, it’s decorated with eyes for flowers, and vines and leaves. A wreath of roses around the head.
“Because of this?” Cole demands.
Shock ripples through me at his guess. I try to pull my hands away, but he holds me fast. “Who was Catrina? She died in a car accident?”
I look up to the stars to keep the tears that filled my eyes from falling. I suddenly can’t breathe at all. My throats too tight. Too choked with sharp edges of grief that scrape and burn.
“Fuck, Pink.” Cole sounds shocked, like whatever he sees on my face unnerves him. He cradles one side of my head and yanks me against his hard form. My cheek hits his muscled chest, and I draw in a horrible, loud sobbing breath. “Fuck,” he mutters again. “Who was she?”
I haven’t talked about it. Everyone at my old school knew the story. They were all careful not to bring it up around me.
Now it all comes out at once. The crushing guilt. The trauma. The agony of loss.
“My best friend,” I croak against his t-shirt. My tears are already soaking the soft cotton. “I killed her.”
“Fuck.” His arms tighten around me.
I sob it out, ugly shaking, heaving cries against the chest of my enemy.
As fast as it came on, it stops. Like I just had this tidal wave in me that needed to come out, and then the waters stilled.
I stop shaking and lift my head. I suddenly want to tell him. Want to say the words out loud and have them witnessed. “I was driving and the road was icy. We spun out of control and smashed into a guard rail. A piece of metal came through the windshield and punctured her skull. One minute we were joking about her ability to make popcorn, the next minute she was gone. Not just gone, a scene that plays in my nightmares. My best friend, eyes unblinking and the blood. So much blood.”
I sense Cole’s shock, but his face shows nothing. I’m grateful not to see sympathy or horror. Just grim acknowledgment.
“So now you don’t drive.” It’s a statement.
I nod.
“Because you’re scared or to punish yourself?”
Hmm. Good question. I’m grateful for the chance to untangle the hulking mess that’s been my past. “Both, I guess.”
He shakes his head like it’s the wrong answer. “You’re driving,” he says firmly, like I’m in big trouble and he’s laying down the law. He takes my elbow firmly and tugs me toward the driver side of his truck.
I resist, but he’s too strong and sure. He pushes me up against the door, pressing his body against mine from behind. His cock is hard, but this doesn’t feel totally sexual. It’s something more. He wraps his hand around my throat but doesn’t squeeze. “Here’s how it’s going to go, Pink.” His lips are right at my ear, hot breath feathering at my temple. “I’m going to be in charge of punishing. And the fear, we’re going to release. Okay?”
I have absolutely no idea what that means, but my body seems to understand. Tingles race all down my skin. My pussy clenches. He presses his lips to my temple and drags them along the skin. Not a kiss. Something hotter. Meaner.
“Wh-what do you mean?” I manage to say.
To my disappointment, he pulls away and frees me, but it’s only for a moment. He pulls open his car door and pushes my torso down over the seat. His hand cracks down on my butt, hard.