After months of therapy, Garrett Delko is still struggling to cope with his brother's suicide. The only time he finds peace is on the pitching mound and with a mysterious girl he's been obsessed with since the first week of college. One night, he se...
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There seemed to be one problem after another, and by the time she had a moment to herself, it was her turn to be manning the help desk which monitored the event. When her shift ended, it was well past four am. The DJ and food trucks had long packed up their stuff and left and most of the people were fast asleep with a few night owls still milling around.
The air was damp as she exited the tent, the early morning dew starting to form. She knew Garrett was most likely asleep, but she headed to her box anyway. To see if he's really there.
She was surprised to see Garrett very much awake. He'd flipped the box around so instead of something over his head, it was completely open. His earphones were in, and his head was tipped back as he stared at the stars. She didn't know what alerted him to her presence, she hadn't made a sound, but somehow he knew she was close.
She shivered as his gaze roamed over her like fingers brushing her skin. She felt exposed but had no desire to cover up. She wanted him to look. To covet. She wanted him to be as confused and messed up about her as she was for him.
He moved to make room for her, but she crouched outside of the box because no matter how she wanted, she couldn't be selfish. "You doing okay?" she whispered, the sound echoing off the nearby boulders.
Weariness was stamped on his face as he patted the inside of the box. "Get in."
"I just came to check on you. Sorry I haven't stopped by. I was slammed."
"I figured, but I knew you wouldn't break your promise to me."
"That sure of yourself, huh?"
He shook his head, his dark cap of hair flying around his face. "That sure in you."
His declaration took her breath away, and she wanted to believe him, but experience had taught her it wasn't that easy. Life had a nasty habit of stepping in and sweeping everything in the garbage.
"You look like I killed your cat," he said, a hint of amusement beneath his long lashes. "Is it that wrong to believe in you?"
Sadness swept over her. "According to my dad, yeah, it is."
"Then your dad's a jackass."
"Life's been a jackass to him first," she countered. Apache Crossing had been vicious to him. They said horrible things like he wasn't man enough to keep his wife satisfied and he only married to get control of the mill, not to mention the racist comments that made Arianne's stomach turn.
"Still doesn't give him the right. Not to his daughter." Garrett reached down to where her hand lay on her thigh and twined his fingers with hers. His fingers were long and lean like a conductor, but they were rough. They had calluses. These hands worked hard. She fought back a shiver as she imagined them on her skin, touching her, playing her. What kind of symphony would he create on her body?
