The last time I left Rocosa, my ex-boyfriend Burns broke into a cabin near Breckenridge. Younger me was an idiot, living in the moment and letting vodka cloud my better judgement. The memories are a blur of drunken regrets, until eventually the sleazebag dropped me off at the entrance of the ER like a pile of garbage and drove off. I should probably be thankful, because if he hadn’t, I would have died of alcohol poisoning. And if that wasn’t enough to scare me—which itshould have been—it was seeing my mother’s drunken reflection in the bathroom mirror that felt like a slap of reality.
I refused to be her.
That day I made the decision to quit drinking. Not because everyone told me so, but because I wanted to.
And I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since.
Pushing through the shop doors, I inhale deeply, forever appreciating my returned sense of smell. I lock the door behind me then skid to a stop at the man leaning against his truck.
You have got to be kidding me.
“Hey, Reese’s Cup.”
Chapter Six
TRISTEN
Reese is unable to hide her blatant displeasure when she spots me outside the shop. Not sure why I was expecting a different response.
“Uh, hey, Tristen. What are you doing here? I’m in a bit of a rush, so I don’t have time to chat,” she states, her grip on her suitcase tightening.
“Des said you needed a ride to the bus station.”
Which is close enough to the truth. I overheard his plans during our weekly Madden gaming session, and as a good friend would do, I offered to take Reese for him since I had to go into town for an errand. I’m sure I’ll need something or other at the grocery store. So, technically not a lie.
Her mouth opens and closes, like she’s short circuiting through a list of responses.
“I . . . thought my brother was taking me.”
Of course Des didn’t tell her. That would have made this whole process too easy if he had.
“Nope. You got me.”
For a split second, she seems like she’s going to bolt, rolling onto the balls of her feet. I push off the truck and grab hersuitcase handle before I have to chase her down Main Street. She jerks forward, refusing to release her hold, resulting in a game of tug-of-war.
“Wait,” she says and glances down the street again. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. He’s tying ribbons on a hundred wedding favors tonight.”
She nods, slowly accepting her fate.Me.Like I’m the root canal of a choice.
“Let go so I can toss this in the truck.” It comes out a little gruffer than I meant, so I add in a softer “please” to smooth things over.
Her top lip curls as she reluctantly lets go. “I can do it.”
“Oh, I know. But it’s nice to have someone carry the load for you every once in a while.” I pick up the suitcase and stumble back from the weight. Muscles straining, I heave it into the bed of the truck. The contents clang inside. “What the heck do you have in here? Dumbbells?”
“Just the body of the last bartender who got on my nerves,” she says without missing a beat.
“You scare me sometimes.”
She smiles, as if I’d told her she was beautiful.
A jolt of unexpected attraction hits me—and suddenly Iwantto tell her she’s beautiful. Her hair is loose, draped over her shoulders, still damp from her recent shower. Natural, freshly scrubbed skin, without the layers of makeup she wears when she goes out. She’s softer now, with light blonde lashes and freckles sprinkled over the bridge of her nose and cheeks. So faint, it doesn’t take much to hide them under her makeup. Why she even wears that junk, I don’t understand. She has never needed any of that to be beautiful. She just is.
I glance down at her lips and notice that even those are bare without gloss.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She scrubs a hand over her mouth. “Do I have toothpaste on my face?”
