Hell or High Water (The Four Horsemen MC Book 8)(4)By: Sara Rayne
“Solid plan.” Glad I didn’t take you up on the ride home. “Why don’t you head back on foot and get the truck in the morning?”
“With my muscle mass, I can metabolize the alcohol in a few minutes.” He flexed a bicep to illustrate his point.
Lex groaned. “Okay, well…good luck with that.”
She started walking, and he stepped in her path. “Keep me company. We didn’t get to finish our conversation.”
Or maybe the big, bad football player is scared of the dark? She smiled.
“I saw you smile. C’mon, I know you want to.”
“It’s cold out here….”
“No problem.” He opened the door and started the truck. After he flipped a couple of switches, she heard the blowers kick on. “Engine’s still warm. We can sit and talk, and then I can drive you back.” When she eyed him, he threw up his hands. “Or you and that hefty can of pepper spray can make it on your own like the strong, independent chick you are. Whatever.”
She tucked the keys and pepper spray back in her hoodie pocket, feeling a bit sheepish. “I should go home.”
“I forgot. Good girl has to study for her final.” He smirked, leaning back against the hood.
The smart thing to do would be to blow off Grant and hightail it back to her dorm—lock her door, climb in bed for a solid eight hours, and get up the first time her alarm went off like she always did. After she finished her finals, Lex could spend the next four weeks drooling over Voo without doing a damn thing about it except second-guessing herself over every brunette hellion flashing cleavage at him.
Go be “Lex the Buzzkill”, focused on her priorities because Horsemen were bad and she was chicken shit.
Or she could prove this asshole and everyone else wrong and flirt with a drunk football player while he sobered up on Finals Eve. It’d be a fun story to tell Dani.
“At least get warm and make sure I’m sober enough to get behind the wheel.” Grant gestured to the open door.
“Yeah, looks like you could use some help.”
“Slide on in. The passenger door sticks, but it’s a bench seat so it doesn’t matter.” Once she’d slid all the way over against the opposite door, he climbed into the driver’s seat and bumped the heat up another notch. “Warm enough?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” She held her hands in front of the closest vent.
“How long you been goin’ to school here? I haven’t seen you around much.” He turned to face her.
“Counting my first two semesters of grad school—about five years, now.” And this was the lowest-cut shirt she’d ever worn—on the day he’d decided to notice she existed.
Coincidence? Hell naw.
She studied him in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. They sure grew ‘em big in Odessa, where he hailed from. Grant was a good-looking hunk of man. Blond, blue-eyed, and stacked with muscle—he was the poster boy for the American dream. Wholesome white bread in a plastic-privilege wrapper. A private college boy with solid job prospects after graduation, and a football player to boot—he was Texas debutante catnip.
Probably everything Lex’s parents had ever wanted for her. All the boxes checked, right in a line—an anti-Horsemen for Lex’s anti-hellion—a matched set.
Lex sighed. This was her idea of rebelling—sitting in a lukewarm Chevy with a half-loaded asshole her parents would actually approve of. Wow, this would sure show ‘em I’m no buzzkill.
Grant’s conversation skills improved slightly as he sobered up, and he stopped talking about himself and his stats for a few minutes. One of his jokes even made her laugh.
“From what I heard, you don’t do the college party scene.” He’d scooted closer over the course of their conversation, and the moonlight spilling in the windshield cast shadows across his face.
“Not my thing, but I had to say goodbye to Josie.”
“I get the feelin’ you aren’t about the football games and such, neither. Not a sorority girl.” His voice lowered slightly. “What are you into?”
Bad-ass bikers with loa tattoos and hot French accents.
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