Page 99 of Drive

Yeah. I’m sorry.

Lexi: Don’t be. I’ll see you tonight.

I struck out early with a long list of to-dos and was halfway through them when I remembered I’d agreed to a football game with Nate. I glanced at the clock on my iPod and ran the last three blocks home like I was being chased.

Behind my front door, I looked at the cheap Roman numeral clock in our living room.

“SHIT!”

I had ten minutes.

I jumped into the shower and was shaving my legs when I heard the pound from the door. I wrapped a towel around myself and hustled down the hall. Nate stood on the other side wearing his game day gear. Sunglasses propped on his head, he wore a solid gray hoodie with Texas written across it in burnt orange. I couldn’t concentrate on much else but the chill running down my spine as his eyes lit fire at the sight of me soaking wet in a towel with shaving cream running down my legs.

“I’m sorry. I can be ready in ten minutes,” I promised before I pulled him inside and shut the door. He leaned against it with his arms crossed, softly knocking his head against the back of it.

“Is that okay?”

“Oh, that’s fine, Stella,” he said as his jaw ticked. “What’s not fine is I’m going to be hard for the next four fucking hours.”

He was brazen and unashamed of his attraction . . . and I loved it.

I took the time to do an assessment of my own and decided I loved the way he looked in everything. There wasn’t a piece of clothing the man owned that could tarnish him.

“I brought you a sweatshirt. Had a feeling your wardrobe was lacking something collegiate.” Without warning, he yanked me toward him. I gasped as his mouth brushed my cheek before he whispered. “Let’s see if it fits.” He lifted my arms and my towel fell. He kept his eyes trained on mine as he bunched the shirt up and slipped it over my head. I pushed my arms through, fully turned on. I was freezing and the material was uncomfortable against my wet skin. My hair was dripping and I really wanted to wash off my legs. But all of that fell away as we stood staring at each other on the edge of consumption. My center throbbed as he ran his fingers through my wet hair, untangling it. The sweatshirt hung at my thighs and Nate exhaled mint-laced breath and let his eyes drift down. His dark blond lashes my focal point as my chest heaved. “Looks like it’s too big,” he said, his disappointment muffled by his desire.

“I think it’s perfect,” I whispered as I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re a cruel woman,” he said in a half groan, his eyes playful.

“I’m sorry.”

Those words hit close to home coming from my mouth, and I stepped away. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Sure,” he said as I walked toward my bathroom. I looked over my shoulder to find him standing at the door with his fists clenched, his gaze a tumultuous ocean. I loved the effect I had. I loved the way I looked on him. I was covered in his smell—woods and ocean. Behind my bathroom door, I stared at myself in the mirror. It was one of his sweatshirts, which I found sexy as hell. He knew it would cover me as soon as I was cloaked in it, and didn’t get the eyeful he’d so patiently earned. He was trying his best to temper the attraction between us, while I was playing with blue flames. But why?

I knew why. He knew why.

In the shower, I scolded myself for being so careless. I’d started such a screwed-up pattern. Reckless with my heart, my emotions. One man to another . . . and then another. I palmed my face, disgusted.

As much as I wanted to feed the chemistry I felt at my door, I was doing us both an injustice. I wasn’t ready . . . yet. And we both knew it.

I had to break the cycle; though I was sure I didn’t have it in me to feel the way I felt about the man I wanted to remember me.

Still, Nate deserved better. I deserved better.

Walking out fully dressed fifteen minutes later, I met Nate at the couch.

“Nate—”

“It’s a good thing your boss is older and has been there.”

A breath of relief.

He pulled me into his lap.

“You look good dressed in me.”

“Nate, it’s not that I don’t want—”