Page 9
Hudson
When do you want to go?
Me
Does Saturday morning work for you?
Hudson
See you then.
I blow out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. I did it. I actually asked Hudson Carrington for help, and the world didn’t end. Who knows what’ll happen next.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HUDSON
The heat is already setting records, and it’s not even eight a.m. yet. I pull my truck up to the curb outside Tinsley’s apartment building, engine ticking over as I watch the sun’s rays pour across the parking lot. I’m sweating before she even appears. Partly from Texas humidity, and partly from the anticipation binding my stomach tighter than a sailor’s knot.
She steps out with her hair up and her shades already on. She’s wearing a pink T-shirt and white shorts. My cock turns to stone in my pants, and I know this is going to be a long goddamn ride to Houston.
Tinsley slides into the passenger seat and drops her bag on the floor.
“Thank you so much for helping me with this,” she says, adjusting the vent so the blast of cold air nails her straight in the face.
“Anything for you.” I keep my voice easy, but I’m fighting the urge to kiss her until neither one of us remembers our own names.
She grunts and thumbs through her phone. “We’re supposed to meet the guy at ten sharp.”
“We have plenty of time.” I pull away from the curb with a careful slow roll. “You want coffee on the way?”
She blinks over at me. “Already had two cups. If I drink more, I’ll vibrate through the floorboards.”
“Fair enough.” I merge onto the main road, the big diesel rumbling.
After a while, she glances over, phone screen up so I can see a little photo of the car. “So, it’s a 2019 Corolla. Sixty thousand miles, one owner, no accidents. He’s asking twelve, but the book value says more like ten. I figure if it all checks out and I can get him down to nine, I’ll take it. Thoughts?”
I want to tell her she should aim higher. I want to say she deserves better, newer. But that’s not what she wants, and I know it. “Sounds like you’ve done your homework.”
Her eyebrows arch, like she’s waiting for the lecture. When I don’t deliver, she relaxes half an inch and starts scrolling the listing again. “You’re not gonna mansplain buying a car to me?”
I snort. “Nope. I have no doubt that you’re on top of it.”
She laughs. “Was it hard for you to admit that?”
I keep my eyes on the road. “You have no idea.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then she asks, “Do I owe you anything for disposing of my old car?”
I keep my eyes on the road. “I actually owe you a little over a grand. Rick ended up selling it to a guy in Midnight Falls.”
She stares at me like I’ve just declared myself an astronaut. “Someone paid real money for that disaster?”
“They did.” I risk a glance over. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t quite believe it, like maybe there’s a catch. “I have your money in my wallet. I’ll give it to you when we stop.”
She shakes her head, and there’s something like gratitude under the disbelief. “I thought it would cost me to get it towed. I honestly expected to owe you.”
I flex my hands on the wheel, resisting the urge to say, “You don’t owe me anything.” Instead, I just nod and merge onto the highway.
