Free Hot For You by Jessie Evans

Mama-related problems. On occasions when she felt compelled to call in reinforcements to bail her mama out, the Hansen brothers never made her feel guilty, but Jake was probably enjoying a night off with Naomi, and Jamison was at work so…
    “All right,” she said, feeling lighter as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
    “Good.” Mick put an arm around her shoulders as they crossed the street. “I’m glad. I’m not ready to say good-bye yet.”
    “Me either,” Faith said, the words out of her mouth before she could think better of them. But Mick didn’t seem troubled by what she’d said; he only smiled down at her and hugged her closer to his side.
    So far they were both doing a crappy job of keeping things casual, but who cared when his arm felt so good around her shoulders.

Chapter Six
    Mick couldn’t decide if he was having the best—or simply the craziest—date of his life, but he knew this was a night he’d never forget.
    By the time he and Faith reached the Alabama state line, they’d eaten all of their candy stash and moved on to nursing extra -l arge coffees to stay awake. By the time they saw the sign announcing they were fifty miles from Mobile, they were so exhausted they had to pull over and chase each other around the truck in the cold night air to catch their second wind. And by the time they crossed into Mississippi, they had resorted to blasting nineteen eighties power ballads and singing along at the top of their lungs, having decided the only way not to fall asleep at the wheel was to make sure silence never fell in the truck cab.
    “Wow, Miller,” Mick said, reaching over to turn down the radio after a rousing rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’. “You couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket with two hands.”
    “What a jerk you are,” Faith said, with an outraged laugh. “And I was just going to tell you what a nice voice you had.”
    “I do have a nice voice.” Mick chuckled when Faith’s arm shot across the bench seat to punch his shoulder. “What can I say, I’m a classic Irish tenor.”
    “You’re an arrogant son of a gun is what you are.” Faith shook her head in mock disgust. “Is there anything you aren’t good at, Mr. Fabulous?”
    Mick took a moment, humming under his breath as he thought. “I can’t cook to save my life, sometimes I steal milk from my sisters’ fridge and lie about it, and I’m not great at tennis.”
    “I’ve never played,” Faith said. “I’m not into sports where girls are supposed to wear short skirts.”
    “That’s a shame,” Mick said, meeting Faith’s glare with a grin. “What? I can’t help it. I think you’d look great in a tennis skirt.”
    “And you’d look great in a kilt, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to wear one.”
    Mick shrugged. “Why not?”
    “Seriously?” Faith asked with a snort. “You’d really put on a kilt?”
    “If you had a thing for guys in skirts…” Mick’s grin stretched wider as Faith laughed. He loved her laugh. It made his chest feel as warm as the first sip of Maddie’s salted-caramel hot chocolate.
    “So, yeah,” he continued. “I’d wear a kilt, as long as you didn’t want me to shave my legs, too. I’d probably hack myself to pieces.”
    Faith shook her head. “You’re a strange one, Whitehouse.”
    “I am, I guess.”
    “Good thing I like strange.”
    “I like you, too,” he said, reaching out to give her thigh a light squeeze.
    At first, Faith stiffened in response, but then her muscles relaxed and her thighs parted the slightest bit, enough to make Mick’s heart skip a beat and things low in his body begin to ache.
    God, he wanted to touch her, to touch her everywhere, to pull over to the side of the abandoned highway and let his hand slide down the front of her jeans and wake them both up with something a whole lot more fun than singing along with the radio.
    “Mick?” Faith asked after a moment, a hitch in her voice that made him think she felt it too,