Greyson turned and headed back into the bar, casting a menacing look at him before disappearing inside, leaving Sawyer standing in the parking lot with Kennedy.
Sawyer must’ve gotten lost in his own thoughts because it wasn’t until Kennedy touched his arm that he looked at her again.
“What’s goin’ on, Sawyer?” she asked, shivering.
“Let’s go to my place and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He stepped closer to her, grateful when she didn’t try to back away this time. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, burying his face in her neck. It was crazy how wonderful things had been, yet in the last couple of days, so much shit had gone down, Sawyer was more confused than ever. The only ray of hope he’d had was Kennedy, and he desperately wanted to talk to her about what was going on, yet he hadn’t bothered to let her in. Instead, he’d fallen back on keeping things merely physical between them.
It was time to change that.
HALF AN HOUR later, Sawyer was sprawled out on his couch waiting for Kennedy to arrive. Before they left Moonshiners, she had informed him that she needed to go home and get some clothes. His first thought was that she was going to stand him up. Since he wasn’t going to break down and call her—not wanting to sound as needy as he felt—he had no choice but to wait to see whether or not she actually followed through with her promise.
This was something incredibly new to him and maybe that was part of his issue for the last few days. Never—not one single time in his entire life, with the exception of each and every time he’d spent just a few minutes in Kennedy’s company—had he ever anticipated seeing a woman again.
And never had he invited one to his house.
It was strange, he had to admit. Not something he was all that comfortable with, but something he’d come to accept. However, he didn’t find the doubt thing all that pleasant, either. It made him pause when he thought about the women he’d left after one night, never seeing them again. The whole emotional aspect of a relationship—if what he and Kennedy had could actually be considered a relationship—was downright tiring.
But it didn’t mean he was ready to give up.
Quite the opposite.
Two minutes later, there was a knock on his door. With a heavy sigh of relief, he made his way to the door, Buster barking at his feet.
“Chill, man,” he said to the dog as he opened the door and saw Kennedy standing there. She was still wearing her black sweater, jeans, and boots but she still appeared upset, though more beautiful than ever. She stole his breath and he’d seen her only a few minutes ago.
When she came inside, offering him a shy smile before she began looking around, he felt a weight lift. At least a little of the weight that was currently sitting on his chest.
As she always did, Kennedy knelt and gave Buster a head rub, talking to him softly before getting to her feet. It was almost as though Buster had simply needed that little bit of attention, because he snuck off to his bed and curled up, resuming the nap he’d been taking prior to her arrival.
“So, what do you think?” he asked as Kennedy’s eyes combed the room, seeming to take everything in.
His place was much like hers in that he didn’t have a lot of clutter. A cream-colored leather sectional sat in one corner of the large living room, aimed at the big-screen television hanging on the wall above an oak stand that contained his cable box and nothing else. There were two end tables that matched, flanking each end of the sectional. On them were matching lamps that his mother had actually picked out for him years ago. It was no secret that he wasn’t much into decorating, which was why the walls were still the same cream color they’d been when he built the place years ago. The floors were hardwood, with the exception of the three bedrooms, which had an off-white carpet that had been an easy choice at the time.
Watching Kennedy, he waited for her reply.
“Very . . .” She chewed her lip, briefly glancing back at him. “Not what I expected,” Kennedy finally said, still searching the room.
“What did you expect? Maybe a mechanical bull in the middle of the room?” he teased.
“Somethin’ like that. It’s . . . homey, I guess. I’m not sure what I’d really pictured, but this certainly wasn’t it. However, it’s very nice.”
“Thank you,” he replied, taking the bag she still held on her arm. He deposited it in his bedroom, not offering to give her a tour of that room just yet. If he took her there, Sawyer feared they wouldn’t leave. And as much as he wanted to get Kennedy naked, tonight wasn’t necessarily about that. Well, not all about that anyway.