Chapter 91: Austin

Getting Miranda to the truck hadn't taken much effort. She had followed willingly, and I didn't hesitate to take advantage of her fingers laced with mine when I pulled her out to the parking lot of The Hut. It was hard not to acknowledge how it felt to have her back in my arms on the dance floor, or how much I'd missed holding her hand. And when she climbed into the cab of my truck, it took effort not to focus on the sway of her hips or her tight ass. There had never been another woman who did for me what Miranda Adams did, and that clearly hadn't changed. If it hadn't changed in six years, it wasn't going to in sixty.

The ride back to Cross Acres proved uneventful. Country music played on a low volume, and Miranda stared out the window. I snuck glances at her and noticed she didn't even mouth the words. "Do you not listen to country anymore?"

"Hmm?" Not only did she not appear to listen to country music, she wasn't listening to me, either.