Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book) by Reinhardt, Liz (knowledgeable books to read TXT) 📕

I open the door and slide out, and for a second Winch does nothing at all, which makes relief and sadness tango cheek to cheek in my heart. Then his door opens and slams shut hard enough to rock the car back and forth.

I walk fast, glad that I didn't have time to change into the dangerously adorable sex-kitten heels I'd usually be wearing on a Saturday night date downtown. Winch's boot-steps trail me.

"Go home, Winchester. This date is over!" I glance over my shoulder and shoo him with a flick of my fingers.

His mouth tightens. "I'm not letting you walk through this part of town alone. I'm not an asshole."

His implication burns like acid in the back of my throat. "Actually, aren't I the best judge of that, asshole? And I've been walking Savannah by myself since I was in middle school, so get lost."

I'm so busy mouthing off, I don't notice a high spot in the cement and half trip. I would have been perfectly capable of catching myself, but Winch is right next to me, his hand cupped under my elbow, and I'm pissed that I need his assistance for even a second. I plan to shake his hand off and run far away from this miserable failure of a date. But once he has his hands on me, he grips too tight for me to get away.

"You're hurting me," I hiss as he turns me to face him.

"I could never hurt you as bad as you try to hurt yourself," he answers with chilly calm.

A tiny voice inside my head screams in his direction, How could you know that?

We stand on the sidewalk, and I make a quick attempt to yank away from him, but it's pointless to try, so I focus on his gorgeous, glowering face, cursing my bad luck in picking yet another control-freak douchebag. His hands slide down to my elbows and then open up, letting me go, and he shoves them firmly into the depths of his pockets.

"If I let you wait with me while I call a car, will that be good enough for you?" I press my hands palm-to-palm in front of me, prayer style, and his glower deepens. "What? What do you want then?"

He kicks at the cement. "I want to rewind tonight. Start over. Make it right."

"I've given a lot of guys second chances when I shouldn't have. But you know all about how stupid I am when it comes to relationships, right?"

My voice whips out and smacks at the lazy night air. His eyes, so dark denim blue, feel like they're soaking up the puddle of all my crazy emotions.

"Fair. But I only got pissed because..." He trails off and shakes his head. "If I try to explain, I'll fuck up more." He digs his hands out of his pockets and grabs mine by the tips of my fingers. "Give me five minutes."

He smiles, and it's beyond contagious; it's viral. My lips tug up despite my efforts to keep stone-faced, so I roll my eyes to offset them.

He holds up one hand, fingers splayed apart. "That's all I'm asking for. Five minutes, clean slate, then you decide what you want from this night. Fair?"

I shake my head and sigh. "I guess." I slide out my cell phone. "It's 7:38. You have until 7:43." I set the alarm and purse my lips at him. "You're on a timer, monkey boy. Dance for me."

He holds his hand to me and it takes me two beats, maybe three, before our fingers are threaded together and we’re clean-slated, wounds licked and pushed back just for these five short minutes.

He starts walking, and I keep pace next to him. He clears his throat. "First minute I saw you? I thought you were trouble."

My laugh tumbles out before I can stop it. "When I first saw you, I thought you were cocky."

He nods. "Not too far off the mark." His fingers squeeze mine tighter. "You were sitting on the floor, and I thought you had great hair, you know? Shampoo commercial hair."

"Shampoo commercial, huh?" I bump my shoulder against his. "Do you write sonnets? Because you've got what it takes to make a girl's heart melt all over the place."

"Sonnets, huh? I've never written one before. But I'd give it a try for you."

If he was still teasing, I'd have winked or pretend-sighed, but the half-crook of his eyebrow lets me know he's serious, and the idea of him toiling over some long, complicated poem to me, for me, turns me on so hard and fast, I feel a telltale heat between my legs.

"But it was when you looked up that I knew I was in trouble. That face..." He shakes his hand. "So damn gorgeous, and so furious. I thought I was gonna charm you and all that, make you see what a nice guy I am and get you to fall for me a little. And you looked pissed as hell. I felt like...I felt like I was finally looking at someone who could understand all the crazy shit I feel and have to push back every day.”

I stop walking and stare at him, the way his eyes seem to pace back and forth, the lock and release of his jaw, and I want to kiss him so badly, it's embarrassing. Especially considering what a rude bastard he was a few minutes ago.

My problem was always falling too hard, too fast, without listening to the warning bells ringing clear as day.

I can't tell if they're ringing right now, but it would make sense if they’ve rung so loud for so long, I’ve just become deaf to their noise.

"I know I said I wouldn't try to explain why I got so pissed, but you deserve an explanation, even if you only give me these five minutes, then never talk to me again, okay?" He cups one palm against my face and runs his fingertips along my