eyes dip to the French fry hanging between her fingers. “What?”
I tick my chin toward the little potato. “I don’t even know how you have skin on your fingers holding that fry, but your mouth won’t fare so well.”
She drops the fry, the burn finally hitting her skin. “Shit.” She places the pads between her lips and slides them into her mouth. “I wasn’t thinking,” she mumbles around her fingers.
“Happens to the best of us. Just give them a minute to cool down.” I nudge her glass of water in front of her. “Hold it.”
“What?” she says, looking at me like I’m a weirdo again, but she’s the one with her fingertips still in her mouth. “Why?”
“The cold glass will stop the burning.”
She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. “Sorry. It’s been a long night.”
“Don’t apologize. How could you know about the wicked ways of their French fries? But now you’ve learned—the hard way, mind you, but you learned.”
She reaches for the glass of water and lets out a loud sigh when her fingertips slide against the cool condensation.
“Better?”
“Much,” she says, leaning forward over the bar, looking more relaxed than she was a few minutes ago. “Thank you.”
I test a fry, giving her fingers a break. “They’re better now, but you may want to blow on them.”
“You go ahead,” she replies, smiling at me again. “I’ll let you test them for safety reasons.”
She watches my hands carefully as I place the fry against my lips before pulling it between my teeth. Her eyes are glued to my mouth, her lips parted, and the air changes, almost crackling around us.
When my tongue sweeps across my bottom lip, taking in the salt, her lips part even more. “Guess they’re safe,” she whispers.
“They’re perfect.”
“They sure are,” she says, but she’s not looking at my eyes or the fries. Her gaze is still firmly planted on my lips in rapt attention.
“You going to have one?” I ask her when she doesn’t move.
Her cheeks turn pink. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
She glances down at her hand still wrapped around the glass, gripping it like her life depends on the connection. “No, really. I have to go,” Arlo says, pushing herself away from the bar, releasing the glass. “It’s late, and I’ve been enough trouble.”
“Wait,” I tell her, reaching into my pocket to grab some money and at least walk her out. “You can’t go out there alone.”
“I’ve been alone my entire life,” she says, backing away toward the crowd. “You’ve done enough.”
I barely get a fifty on the bar before she’s already a dozen feet away. “Hold up,” I call out, trying to be heard over the music, but she turns her back and rushes through the sea of people.
I chase after her, worried about her safety and the creepy guy from earlier. My eyes search the crowd as I head toward the door, knowing exactly where she’s headed.
When I make it outside, she’s hauling ass across the parking lot, checking to her left and right after each step. She may claim she’s used to being alone, but no matter what she says, she’s not comfortable with it either.
I stay where I am, feet firmly planted, arms crossed, watching her every step until she stops at a black Mustang, unlocks the doors, and folds herself inside.
And just like that…she’s gone.
2
Six Months Later
The sun is setting, kissing the horizon as I blow past a car on the side of the road. I glance in my rearview mirror, catching sight of a woman sitting on the hood, elbows on her knees.
I want to keep going, but I hear my parents’ words, telling me never to leave a woman stranded and alone. They drilled into me about doing the right thing even when it puts me out or makes me late. There are worse things they could’ve instilled in me, but there’re still times when the do-good ways are a complete pain in my ass.
Victoria, the newest woman offering herself up to me on a silver platter, isn’t going to be happy about my being late. We’ve only been on two dates, and after tonight, I plan to end things with her. I don’t want her getting used to me being around or thinking she has a place in my future.
No one has that spot.
There has been a hole there since Carrie died, mingled with guilt, and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to bury it.