Fast Lane - Kristen Ashley Page 0,97

seventy-five-degree day.

I hit my garage door opener, tore my eyes from him and turned into my driveway.

I parked, shut her down and got out of the car as fast as I could, walking swiftly down a drive Preacher was walking up.

And yes.

Oh yes.

I hated that I loved the way he moved.

I’d always loved the way he moved.

The sway of his hips and shoulders, the languor of his gait.

Damn it.

We met in the middle of the driveway.

And, oh yeah.

Being five foot nine, I hated how freaking tall he was.

“Preacher—” I started to launch in.

“Hey, cher,” he said softly.

At his words, those words, I closed my eyes, and if I wasn’t wrong, I might have swayed.

“Baby,” he whispered, and I felt his fingers wrap around my upper arm.

Yep.

I’d swayed.

I opened my eyes.

“We’re not doing this,” I told him, gently pulling my arm from his hold.

“Can we go inside?” he asked.

“No,” I denied.

“Lyla, there are words to be said.”

“No, there aren’t.”

His jaw worked then he said, “You need to listen to the new album.”

Oh shit.

“No, I don’t.”

“You do, before it drops.”

Oh shit.

“Preacher—”

“Baby, press release went out that the band’s back together, the album is coming and we’re launching a tour with Shawn’s legal aid gig. The band’s back. I’m back. And we’re standin’ in your goddamn driveway.”

I got his point.

I didn’t like his point.

But I got it.

Preacher was a magnet for paparazzi even before he was making a comeback after one of the all-time most shocking and heart-wrenching stories of personal trauma hit the mainstream.

And I wasn’t kidding myself.

I was a magnet too.

Especially if he was anywhere near me.

And for the first time in six years, he was.

I made a huffing noise that, to protect my ability to keep my shit together, I had to ignore made his lips quirk, and then I turned and prowled up my driveway.

I not only heard the dull strikes of his boots on cement, I actually felt him follow me.

Preacher there.

Not but a few feet away.

Following me.

The garage led into a tiny utility room with a stackable washer and dryer and minimal storage, and that led into a small galley kitchen.

It wasn’t much, say, a massive kitchen done all in white that leads to a colossal living room also all white with views to LA or a cozy, rustic but also massive kitchen with an island in the middle so large, you could lie fully back on it so your man could eat you out.

But it was mine.

I halted the train of my thoughts and turned on Preacher.

“All right, let’s get this done, whatever it is,” I said.

But he was looking around and I had to shift out of his way as he walked by me to get to the small dining room that had a circular table with four chairs, off which there was the living room.

I gritted my teeth and followed him, stopping in the arch between dining and living when I saw him standing in front of my couch in the living room.

His eyes stopped taking in his surroundings, this precisely being after he’d lingered on a picture of Gram and Gramps I had on my bookshelf by the TV, a photo that used to sit in much the same location in our family room in LA, his attention came to me.

“It’s you,” he said.

“Yeah, it is. All me. And all paid for by me.”

He winced.

I wanted to enjoy landing that successful blow, no matter it was low, but dammit, I just couldn’t.

“I deserved that,” he said.

He did.

And with what he’d been going through at the time, he didn’t.

I wasn’t going to get into that.

“Preacher, I’m seeing someone,” I said.

“I know. Shawn told me.”

I would imagine Shawn did.

However, knowing Shawn did made me even angrier.

“Then why are you here?” I asked.

“I’m here, cher, but just sayin’, you gotta have a lot of other questions that you don’t know the answers to.”

“This is not the time to be smug, Preacher.”

“There are a lot of things I’m feelin’ right now, Lyla, and smug sure as fuck is not one of them.”

I had nothing to say to that.

His expression changed and I threw up every barrier I’d started fortifying from the minute I heard he was back to guard against the beauty of it.

“We needed that time, baby.”

Was he…?

Was he serious?

I stood motionless and it took a grave amount of effort to get my lips to work.

“We did?” I drew in breath so I wouldn’t pass out from lack of oxygen and demanded, “We did? We needed