She’s rambling on and on, and I can’t wait to tell her that man she’s been gushing about for months, the one she can’t wait for his story, well, I’m him. At least in regard to the cover. That was the first question I asked when I messaged Sasha back. Which character am I going to be representing? She was surprised by the question, but after I explained the women in my life are obsessed with her work, and the next character, she laughed and said it was both of our lucky days. Mine because I was indeed going to portray the very character that Charity and Callista have been begging for, and hers because I agreed to the shoot.
“Silas.”
“I do know that she’s your favorite. I’ve heard you and your sister talk about her and her books more times than I can count. I do pay attention, babe.” The term of endearment rolls off my tongue.
“Well… good. Okay. Now, do you know who? Which book?” She’s leaning over the console again as if she’s afraid I’ll whisper the answer, and she might miss it.
“Dean Chandler.”
Another gasp, and this time she does pull her hand from my grasp. “No.” She uses both hands to turn in her seat.
“Don’t sit like that,” I say, glancing over. “The roads are slick as hell.”
“You’re navigating us just fine.”
“Callista,” I growl. “It’s not safe.” She doesn’t move, so I signal to move to the side of the road, putting the SUV in Park, and hitting the button to turn on the flashers.
“Why are we stopping?”
I point at her sitting sideways. “It’s not safe for you to sit like that. We’re going to stop until this conversation is over, so I know when we’re back on the road, you’re safe.”
“I have my seat belt on.” She pulls the strap from her chest as proof.
“I’m not taking any chances with you.” Best friend and her sister aside, I would never be able to live with myself if something happened to her.
Her eyes soften, just a fraction of a second before she waves her hand in the air. “Back to Sasha.” She grins. “How did this happen?” She bounces in her seat. I can’t help but grin at her enthusiasm. I can only imagine this will be an exact replay once we get home, and she’s able to tell Charity.
“It was kind of a fluke thing. I don’t really know how she found me. I posted a pic of me in my fire suit on Instagram, and she commented and sent me a private message.”
“I need to see the picture,” she says, grinning.
I’ve known her for years now, and I’ve never been able to deny her anything, just like the night of Brody and Charity’s wedding reception. Callista was out on the dance floor doing the chicken dance with the kids. All it took was a smile and the crook of her finger for me to leave my seat, my beer, and my sanity and join her in the ridiculous dance. It made her smile, and that was all I needed.
Reaching for my phone in the cupholder, I swipe at the screen, pull up my pictures, and hand it to her. “This is the picture she commented on.” I watch as she stares at my phone and bites down on her bottom lip. Fuck me.
“Shirtless,” she says with a nod. She stares for about four more heartbeats, and yes, I counted before she pulls her gaze from my phone and back to me. “Did you meet her? Sasha?”
“No. She was on a video call during the shoot, but she wasn’t there.”
“I can’t believe you’re Dean,” she muses.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” I tell her. Reaching over, I tuck her bangs behind her ear.
“What? How have I been holding out on you? This is your secret.”
“You never told me you were into firemen.” The light pink dusting that covers her cheeks has me leaning in a little closer.
“Th-That’s all women. Men in uniform,” she says by way of explanation.
“I’d be happy to model it for you. Shirtless,” I add.
She swallows hard, and I lean in just a little closer. “W-We should get back on the road. We have a long drive.”
Shifting in my seat, trying to hide the evidence of my arousal, I lean in toward the steering wheel, pretending to be stretching. “Ready?” I ask, looking over at her. She’s once again facing forward, her seat belt properly fastened across her chest. My eyes travel to where the belt rests between her ample breasts, making them even more prominent. When she clears her throat, I pull my eyes to hers and smirk. “They’re distracting,” I say, not the least bit fazed by getting caught staring at her tits.
A week ago, I would have been pissed at myself. Hell, a week ago, I would never have let myself get caught. However, in this SUV with her so close, only the two of us, on this snowy trek home, I can’t seem to find the willpower to care.
As soon as we’re back out on the road, I reach over and lace my fingers through hers again. She doesn’t protest and remains quiet when I rest our combined hands on my thigh. I don’t know why, but I need to be touching her. Maybe it’s because this is my one and only chance. Maybe it’s because I need to feel the softness of her skin to remind me this is real. The girl I’ve wanted for years is sitting right next to me. Now it’s up to me to decide what I’m going to do about it.
Chapter Three
CALLISTA
My eyes are glued to the front window of the SUV. The snow is still rapidly falling, but Silas doesn’t seem to care as he expertly navigates us through the storm.
One-handed.
Because he’s holding mine.
With my right hand, I pinch the side of my leg and jump from the piercing pain. “You okay?” he asks, glancing over quickly before setting his eyes back on the road.
“Yeah, just a nervous twitch or something,” I rattle off my lame excuse. Reaching into my purse, I quickly type in games for long car rides because this silence infused with all the sexual tension isn’t going to work for the next eight-plus hours. Who knows with this weather how long it’s actually going to take for us to get home to Cedar Rapids. I’ve always been attracted to him, and he’s a flirt, but I thought that’s all it was. I’ve felt this chemistry between us. Then again, it’s never been just the two of us. I’ve avoided that, not trusting myself with him. Until now.
I search until I find road trip questions, and without thought, fire off the first one. “Would you rather eat out for every meal or cook for every meal?” I keep my eyes glued to my phone, scrolling other questions while I wait for his answer.
“Cook. I do enjoy eating out, but I don’t keep this”—he takes our combined hands and rubs them over his abs—“by eating junk all the time.”
Shit. This was supposed to help the sexual tension, not make it worse. I take a deep, even breath to try and quell my reaction to him, and his abs. “Would you rather know how you’re going to die or know how I’m going to die?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Hey, I’m not making these up.” I hold my phone in the air so he can see I’m reading from it.
“Me,” he says, his jaw tight. “I don’t even want to think about a world without you in it.” His eyes are on the road, and his grip on my hand squeezes a little tighter. And the breath in my lungs stalls from his sweet words.