Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Harley

The second movie starts, and I’m fading fast,

It’s not the movie’s fault–well, maybe just a little. It’s some overly dramatic rom–com with too many love scenes and a soundtrack that takes itself way too seriously. But mostly, it’s because of the hot–blooded body beside me.

Thane. He’s warm and solid, and smells like all my worst decisions all rolled into one delicious brute of a man

I’m curled against him in the back of the SUV, surrounded by the softness of blankets and the quiet clinking

inking of a half-

a half–finished picnic. Somewhere during the first movie, I untucked my legs and stretched them out before me. Without missing a beat, he had draped them over his lap, and his arms are now loosely lying over them like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like we do this every Sunday evening

It’s comfortable, and it feels…safe. Too safe.

And that’s dangerous. So very fucking dangerous.

He hasn’t said much since we arrived here from mini–golf, just the occasional snarky remark, but with his tone lower and softer. He’s running his fingers absently over the blanket’s hem on the side of my thigh, not quite touching me, but not pulling away either. And every now and then, I catch him watching me instead of the movie.

I should say something, anything really, to break the building tension.

But I’m too tired, warm, comfortable, and full of cheese and confusing feelings to open my mouth and protest.

So instead, I shift somewhat to rest my head against his shoulder, and let my eyes drift closed. I feel him move beneath me, just a little, like he’s adjusting so I can be more comfortable. His hand comes up and brushes my hair back from my face, gently tucking it behind my ear. The motion is too careful to be casual, making my heart skip a beat.

“Don’t,” I mumble, half–asleep, my head–to–mouth filter malfunctioning.

“Don’t what?” he asks, his voice barely audible as his breath skates over my forehead.

“Don’t ruin this,” I breathe through sleep–delirium. I’m unsure if Factually say it out loud or if it might just be a fuzzy thought tangled in my impending slumber.

But his body stills for a few seconds, before I feel his arm tightening around my shoulders, just slightly, and just enough.

Then everything goes dark and hazy, and I surrender to the pull of sleep.

Thune

She falls asleep against me.

It happens as slowly as watching dusk spread across the sky. Her breathing evens out, her body gets heavier against mine, and her fingers twitch oner where they test lightly over my stomach.

I’m fucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear when she mumbles, “Don’t.”

I

“Don’t what?” I ask tentatively, my lips almost brushing her forehead as I lean closer to hear her better.

And then she says it. “Don’t ruin this.

Three little words that are barely whispered, and half lost to the wind and the movie’s low humming noises.

But I hear them loud and clear. Every syllable, and every unguarded ounce of her voice.

My chest goes still along with my body for a couple of beats.

Chapter 37

Because her words mean she’s thinking about it, about us, about this thing between us, and how fragile it feels.

And she’s scared I’ll wreck it. Honestly, I probably will. But I won’t tonight.

When the final credits roll and the surrounding cars start to pull out of the lot, I glance over my shoulder toward the front seat. Mike meets my gaze and nods silently before slipping out of the vehicle.

He gently steps around to the propped open trunk and gestures for me to stay put while he quietly moves the blankets and the remains of our picnic, folding things down so I can lift Harley without disturbing her.

I gently slide one arm under her knees and the other around her back, and lift her without barely making a sound. She stirs but doesn’t wake. Her head muzzles against my collarbone, and her breath is warm against my neck as I carefully slide out of the SUV’s back

Mike softly closes the hatch behind me and then moves wordlessly to the passenger side door to open it for me and my precious cargo. I slide inside with Harley still cradled in my arms, and when he gets into the driver’s side, he increases the heat in the car without being asked.

The drive to her house is silent for a long time. She doesn’t move even though my hand is tangled gently in her hair, my thumb brushing the base of her neck with a motion I can’t seem to stop.

at him through the rearview mirror. His tone is level, not prying, and not assuming anything

“Don’t,” I say automatically, but it’s weak, almost reflexive.

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