Deep by Kylie Scott Read Free Book Online Page A

back to the bar, where we’d been standing before. But surely I was better staying here, where Christy last saw me. I looked back and forth in indecision. Neither option appealed. Hell, being here no longer appealed.
    I blinked furiously. Not crying, just … you know, my toe stung.
    It might be time to go catch a cab. I’m pretty sure at home I had all of the ingredients required for emergency mood-enhancing nachos. The bonus being not having to share it with anyone. Call me greedy, I don’t care, and bring on the melted cheese, baby.
    Suddenly, two huge hands descended upon my shoulders and I was forcibly turned around. Some sort of mountain stood before me. A man mountain.
    “Ben!” I cried happily, throwing myself at him (which of course didn’t move the man an inch). His big hot body felt divine, heavenly. I wrapped my arms tight around his waist and clung ever so slightly. “I’m so glad to see you.”
    His hands tensed on my shoulders, fingers rubbing. “I told you not to come in here.”
    “I know.” I sniffed, then set my chin on his chest and gazed up adoringly at him. “But have you noticed how I actually make my own choices like a real live adult?”
    “You don’t say?” He gave me a dour look and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. Such a simple, sweet move; it worked for me big-time. Of course, anything involving him touching me would.
    “How was your date with Lena?”
    No reply.
    “That good, huh? Oh well.”
    “I can see you’re real cut up about it,” he said with a smile.
    “Yeah. The pain goes deep. It’s really good to see you.”
    He looked at me for a long moment. “Yeah, you too. Still, kinda pissed you came in here, though.”
    What a silly statement. I gave him both brows up and Oh really in the eyes. Start out as you mean to go on and all that. Because at no stage would I be answering to the man for where I went and what I did. Trust and respect, etcetera.
    He shrugged, unimpressed. “You didn’t like me going out with Lena. I didn’t like you coming here.”
    “Both of these things are true,” I said, relenting just a little. “What are we going to do about them, though? That’s the question.”
    “Hmm.” He grabbed hold of my hand, giving it a squeeze. “C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”
    “I’d like that.”
    Without another word he led me through the crowd, clearing the way with his body. In his plain jeans and plaid shirt, no one seemed to recognize him. In Portland, he was just one more bearded, tattooed dude among many. Attached to Ben, no one messed with me. I was neither bumped nor groped, thank god. Ah, togetherness. What a rare and beautiful thing. No wonder Anne was so wacky about Mal if this was how he made her feel. Walking beside Ben, my heart seemed so light I might hit my head on the ceiling.
    “Later,” the very pierced bouncer said, opening the door to let us through.
    “Thanks, Marc.”
    Outside, the air was crisp, decidedly cool. I bundled myself up in my coat. Ben didn’t seem to have brought one. He just shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. A beaten-up Chevy truck, from the ’80s at best, sat at the corner. It might once have been pale blue. With all the fading and the couple of spots of rust, it was hard to say.
    “This is your ride?” I asked, surprised.
    In lieu of a response, Ben unlocked the passenger side door, holding it open.
    “Huh.”
    I climbed up and in, sitting carefully on the cold, cracked vinyl seating. Cassettes spilled out of the glove box. Actual cassettes. “Stunned” kind of fit the situation. The man had money, lots of it.
    He swung the door shut, then strode around to the driver’s side. Soon enough the engine was roaring to life with minimal splutter. Clearly the car was kept in good condition.
    “Expecting a Porsche?” he asked.
    “No. Just something slightly less older than me.”
    He snorted.
    We pulled out into the traffic, the low hum of some old Pearl Jam song