Lennon’s body goes still, and she spins around. Her dilated eyes land on mine, and all of the breath rushes from my lungs. She looks sexy as hell—hair tucked behind her ears, cheeks flushed, and don’t even get me started on her body. She’s wearing blue jeans with a hole in the knee, a low-cut black top that offers me a peek of that fantastic fucking cleavage, and black heels. I’m not a high-heel man, myself, more of a boot or chuck man, but I’ll be damned if she didn’t just change my mind.
Something she seems to be inadvertently good at.
“Noah,” she breathes, her eyes darting to Cooper.
She’s nervous.
Good. She should be.
“Noah!” Cooper exclaims, pulling me in for a hug. We slap each other’s backs a few times. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Around,” I say, my eyes locked on Lennon’s.
She swallows hard before asking, “Do you two know each other?”
“Sweet Lennon,” Mikey says, joining the crowd. “What did I tell you about Heaven?”
“Right,” she sighs. “Small town.”
“Noah’s my cousin,” Cooper says proudly, shaking Mikey’s hand.
Lennon’s face pales. “Your cousin.” She looks down at her shoes as though they hold the answers to everything. “Of course he’s your cousin.”
Her eyes lock on the woman to her left—this one I’m unfamiliar with—and Lennon purses her lips. They seem to be having some sort of silent conversation, and after a few seconds, Lennon clears her throat. “I, uh… I need to get home.”
Cooper jumps before I have the chance. “I’ll take you.”
“No,” she says quickly, causing hope to rise in my chest. “No need. I—”
I take a step forward. “Lennon lives next to me; I’ll take her home.”
“No,” she says again. “That’s really not necessary.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
Her shoulders deflate, and I know I’ve won.
“I’ll take you home,” I say again.
Without a word, she walks straight out of the bar and makes a right. Snagging her elbow, I tug her to the left, causing her to stumble conveniently into my arms. She rights herself, takes another step, and stumbles again.
Her heels are sexy and all, and I would kill to have them wrapped around my waist, but they suck on this gravel parking lot. Plus, she’s definitely had a few drinks. The question is, how many? Because we can’t have the conversation we need to have if she’s drunk. Which means it’ll have to wait until morning.
“Come on,” I say, hoisting her into my arms.
“Your ankle!” She slaps at my chest, but I hold her that much tighter.
“My ankle is fine.”
“No, it’s not, you’re…” Her words trail off, and she stops writhing in my arms. “You know what? Screw it. Hurt your ankle more; see if I care.” She crosses her arms over her chest, fluffing her tits, and my cock jerks.
It’s going to be really fucking hard waiting until tomorrow.
“You’re mad at me,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Why on Earth would I be mad at you?” There’s no mistaking the sarcasm—and the tiniest hint of a slur—dripping from her voice.
“I’m sorry.” It’s not much, but it’s a start.