Show Me the Way (Fight for Me 1)

“Yeah,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. My tone turned deep with honesty. “Not sure I have a whole lot more to offer right now, Rynna.”

Silence pulsed around us. Thick with implication. With our reservations and all the things I didn’t know how to say.

She blinked back at me then finally spoke. “That sounds great. I’d love to go.”

I breathed out in relief. “Good.” I backed away, letting a huge smile climb to my face. “That’s really good. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

She smiled the softest smile with another short nod then closed the door.

And I felt good. Really fucking good. I could do this.

16

Rynna

Rex held open the door. “Ladies first,” he said with a tiny smirk lifting on the corner of his sexy mouth.

Nerves tumbled through my body, and my teeth caught on my bottom lip. “Thank you,” I murmured, ducking my head and stepping inside the packed bar.

A warm dimness held fast to the trendy space, the dull roar of voices an easy drone in the air. Edison bulbs hung from the ceilings and flickered against the red brick walls like flames.

People were everywhere, vying to get a stool at the bar or snag one of the high-top tables situated throughout, totally lost in their own worlds as they cast their troubles aside and stepped into the carelessness of the weekend.

That didn’t change the fact I felt as if I were in a spotlight.

I didn’t know if it were the fact I stood beside who had to be the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Or maybe it was because I was still reeling from running into Aaron outside Pepper’s Pies four days ago.

When Rex had asked me to come to this party, my first instinct had been to tell him no.

Both because just looking at the man had me fearing for my heart and because the impact of him merely standing at my door leapt to my throat and spread beneath my skin like a slow burn.

The other had been nothing but straight fear.

Pure, petrified fear.

But I refused to allow history to chase me away. Not from the place I loved. Not from where I belonged. Not ever again.

So, I’d stepped out of my comfort zone and said yes. This man was worth the risk I knew I was taking.

He lifted his chin, and I followed his line of sight to the bar. Ollie was behind it, giving him the same gesture of welcome. Turning that potent attention on me, Rex angled his head to the side. “This way.”

He ushered me ahead of him and toward the stairs. A sign was set up beside it stating the second level was closed for a private party.

Warily, I glanced over at him. “I thought you said this was a small party.”

He released a low chuckle. “Broderick Wolfe doesn’t exactly do anything small. Big seems to be his middle name.”

My brow arched with the tease. “Ah, I see how it is. You actually invited me along to protect you.”

His gaze flicked down my body.

Hot.

Needy.

Those magnetic eyes skated across my bare shoulders and dipped to the valley between my breasts. I released a shaky breath as his gaze drifted over the soft peach dress I wore. The thin straps were satin and crisscrossed over the open back, and the front of the fitted bodice dipped into a shallow V. The skirt was flowy and soft and landed just above my knees.

Those eyes slowly trailed up to meet mine. “I think it’s safe to say there won’t be a soul looking at me. Not with you looking like that.”

A shiver raced down my spine.

Friends. Friends. Friends.

I chanted his defense in my head, as if I might hold the power to claim it and make it real when standing next to Rex Gunner felt nothing like being friends.

It felt like sex and need and desperate hearts.

It felt like hope and healing.

There was no question we’d both been hurt. Beaten down and broken in life’s own cruel ways.

I wanted to reach out and discover his wounds. Maybe let him discover mine.

“You aren’t looking so bad yourself,” I managed, choking over the words like a fool. Uttering them aloud seemed foolish. Not when he was dressed in fitted jeans and a light pink button-up, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. High enough to reveal a few of the colorful feathers inked on the top of his forearm.

I’d nearly stumbled over myself when I’d opened my door to find him that way. So ridiculously sexy, his scruff trimmed, his hair that perfectly imperfect mess.

The tension on the ride over in his truck had nearly been more than I could bear. I’d been hyper-aware of every movement, from the flex of his lean muscles as he’d shifted into gear to the clench of that chiseled, stoic jaw. He’d seemed to have to hold himself rigid in restraint, barely offering a word because one more stimulus might have been the one to tip us over the edge. The detonator to a bomb. The one to shatter our shaky, flimsy ground.