Blythe kept her back to him. “Since you’re refusing to take me home, I have all the time in the world.”
“Now isn’t the time for us to talk about that.”
“You say you want to talk, yet you aren’t willing to.”
“I don’t want to get into what happened on Thanksgiving right now. That’s it.”
“Oh yeah? What about your scar, Tucker?” Blythe turned to face him and ran her finger along the thin line that went from his left cheek almost all the way to his hairline.
“Same story, Blythe.”
“Fine,” she turned back around. “Then, take me home.”
He stood, so she did too, assuming they were leaving.
“I’m not playing games with you, Blythe.”
“Good, because I’m not playing games either. Take me home, or I’ll call someone to come and get me.”
Tucker put his hands on her shoulders. “Blythe, why are you acting this way? All I said was it was time for me to go home. I didn’t say I didn’t want to see you again.”
Why was she acting this way? Good question, and one she didn’t have a rational answer for. The minute he’d said he was leaving, she wanted to leave first.
She sat back down, and he sat next to her. “Blythe, what’s goin’ on?”
He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her back, so they were stretched out on the bed, side by side. Turning to face her, Tucker put his hand under her shirt and caressed the skin on her stomach.
“Talk to me,” he whispered, leaning over and putting his lips where his hand rested.
“I can’t.”
He pulled her shirt out of his way, so his lips could trail farther up her body. He cupped her breast through her bra, and his fingers rolled her nipple.
“Blythe, look at me.”
She closed her eyes tighter.
He pulled her shirt back down over her stomach and rolled off the bed. “Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”
She opened her eyes. “Why now?”
“You wanted to go. Let’s go.”
Blythe grabbed her bag and followed him out of the room and to the parking lot. They drove to her house in silence.
Tucker pulled into the driveway, put the truck in park, and unlocked the doors.
“That’s it? You’re going to drop me off and leave?”
“What do you want, Blythe? You wanted me to bring you home, you’re home.”
“You don’t want to come in?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Tucker—”
“You’re home. Get out of the truck, Blythe.”