It seems we’re both showing our vulnerabilities in this truck tonight.
I hesitate but then take the leap and ask softly, “How did she die?”
“An amniotic fluid embolism. Very rare, the doctors told me. Very rare, but serious.” The muscle in his jaw ticks. “Maybe if we’d gotten to the hospital sooner, at least my son would have survived. But I guess there’s no point in dwelling on what can’t be changed …” Something pulls Tyler’s attention behind me, through the back window. “I think he’s looking for you.”
“Who?” I check the side-view mirror to see Jonah’s hulking frame wandering the crammed parking lot, scowling as he searches. For my truck, I’m sure. My stomach drops. “Oh God, he can’t know I’m out here, crying. How bad is it?” I check the rearview mirror and gasp with dismay at the streaks of mascara. “He can’t see me like this! This is, like, the happiest day of his life. What kind of friend am I?” Just the idea of the look on Jonah’s face when he sees me has more tears—this time of horror—streaming down my cheeks.
“What do I do?” I look to Tyler in a panic, knowing there’s nothing I can do to keep this nightmare from playing out.
“We can make it too awkward for him to come here.” His eyes land on my mouth a second before his lips follow, parting mine gently. I can taste the beer he had before coming out as surely as he can taste mine, but it’s far from unappealing. I respond, tangling my tongue with his.
It takes me a second to cut through my shock—Tyler is kissing me, while conscious—and clue in. He assumes Jonah will see this and change his mind about banging on my window to see where I ran off to. He doesn’t know Jonah like I do, though.
“This isn’t going to work. He can be a bit of an ox,” I whisper against Tyler’s mouth.
“No?” There’s a pause and then Tyler hooks his hand around my thigh and hauls me onto his lap with startling strength, until I’m straddling his thighs, my hands settled on his muscular shoulders. “How about this?” There’s no caution this time as he seizes the back of my head and pulls my face into his, his lips prying mine open. I feel a tug at the hem of my dress and then his other hand sneaks beneath. Calloused fingers skim over my bare skin along my thigh, sending a pulse of anticipation into my core.
The soft moan that escapes from the back of my throat is unintentional.
Tyler breaks away from the kiss suddenly to look up at me. His gaze is molten, his breathing shallow. A curse slips out under his breath, and then he’s diving into me again. The hand that was on my hip shifts to the small of my back, and he pulls my body forward, flush to his, until I can feel his hard length pressed against the apex of my thighs. He rolls his hips into mine.
I don’t know if this is all intended to be part of the act anymore, but this more aggressive, dominant version of Tyler is intoxicating, and I give myself over to the situation without thought for consequences, reveling in the feel of his strength and his warmth and his intensity, my fingertips trembling as they crawl across his stubbled jaw, along the rigid lines of his collarbones, down over the hard planes of his chest and stomach.
Down farther, slipping beneath my dress, my hand moving in between us, my palm smoothing over what makes him so utterly male.
With a sharp inhale, his hand is suddenly there between us, too, working its way into my panties. His fingers deftly push into me, and he curses again. It’s been so long since I’ve let a man touch me like this, and I can’t remember when I wanted anyone this much. The responding gasp would be embarrassing if I wasn’t aching to feel the rest of him inside me. Right now.
I vaguely recall how this started, but the reason no longer matters, as Tyler’s frantic mouth works over mine with skill, and I fumble with his belt and jeans, unfastening them in a rush, before either of us comes to our senses. He lifts his hips and pushes his own pants down.
Beneath the cover of my dress, I wrap my hand around his smooth, warm length. He groans as I stroke him, my thumb sliding over the bead of moisture pooling at his tip. If I’m the first woman he’s kissed since Mila passed, then surely I’m also the first to touch him like this.
“Is anyone out here?” he whispers, his voice strained.
I break from his mouth to check the back window. “No. No one.” The parking lot is full of vehicles and empty of people, and even if it isn’t, unless someone is climbing into the adjacent truck, they’re not likely to notice us here.