Don’tmindme.Thesilent tantrum I’m throwing—arms crossed, rose gold headphones smushed on my head, staring out of the passenger window and definitely NOT at Braxton’s reflection—has everything to do with his perma-smug expression. Someone, please tell me how this man can hold a smug expression for fifty miles?!
So, how did I end up in the passenger seat of Braxton’s truck?
I could blame it on Lorelai’s text saying Mama was indeed locked in jail for drug usage. But honestly, that didn’t shock me.
I simply suck at driving.
Though I would never admit that out loud to the gloating man.
I had won. Our luggage was tucked into my trunk. I held the victorious smug expression he currently wears proudly. I twinkled my baby blues at him in the passenger seat, threw my Jetta into reverse, and backed straight into the trashcan that I momentarily forgot was on the corner of the driveway.
Because it was stupid trash day.
He glared at me (I shrunk ten sizes), hopped out of the car to check for damage (there was none, thank goodness), put the trash back into the can (because he’s a good man), and pointed for me to pull my car back into the driveway (yes, sir).
Why did I let my feisty feminine energy slip for a moment and listen to him?
Because you would do anything for Braxton Rawls, too, if you saw him vexed. With muscles bulging from his arms as a result of his clenched fists…that tense, sharp jawline…
I inwardly sigh, wishing I could make my best friend mine.
Why do I want him so bad now that I’m single? It’s because he’s hot. I’ll leave it at that. Just my body having natural reactions to his good-looking self.
I dig in my purse for a lollipop, smiling to myself when I find my favorite flavor—strawberry shortcake.
But who am I kidding? It’s not just because of his looks. Braxton is the man—the person, really—who has always been there for me. He’s kind, hardworking, makes me laugh, and is gentle in the most masculine way. In the past when I have been single, I pined after him whether he was in a relationship or not (most of the time, he was). When another man came into my life, it halted the feelings for a while. But they never fully went away, so when said guy and I would break up, those feelings would come roaring back with a vengeance. And this breakup with Daniel seems to be no different.
No, I guess I didn’t truly love him. Not in the way I love Braxton.
But no use in daydreaming. It can NEVER happen. Braxton can never be my rebound guy. Not to mention we are too different, and I am too used up.Too much like your mama,my inner voice whispers. I know he is waiting for marriage…and I surely haven’t. And he is the man that deserves a woman who waited for him. Braxton is one of the good ones.
I catch his reflection in the window looking towards me, his smug expression finally falling away, replaced with…concern? A hint of worry?
This is another reason we would never work. Braxton seems to think it is his sole job in life to look after me.Like a brother.
Slipping off my headphones, Dolly Parton’s voice fades away. The sound of some architectural podcast he’s listening to fills the truck.
I peek through the waterfall of hair that I’d situated earlier on my left side to try and block him from my view, only to find him reflected in the window.Sigh.He’s everywhere in this truck. Even his signature spicy, yet sweet, forest scent lingers in every fiber of fabric in this black truck.
There’s no escaping him. It’s enough to drive a woman to the brink of madness.
I watch him through my hair. His eyes keep drifting to linger on me, only glancing back at the road after seconds pass.
He pauses the podcast.
“What’s on your mind, Bully?” Braxton asks. He reserves that nickname for when he is trying to be sweet or serious with me. I hated it for the longest time, but it grew on me. Endearing, of sorts. He calls me Dawson when he is perturbed with me. And then there’s plain Hads like the rest of my friends call me. Oh, and Hadley.
I can’t lie. I love the way he says my first name. Like an unspoken promise of things to come.
Taking the lollipop out of my mouth, I say the first words on my mind. “I gotta pee.” My brain is looking out for me, even if it’s a bit crass.High-five, brain!Because there is no way I can tell him what was really going through my mind. I’d rather talk about my urine needs.
He chuckles in a lively way, and his eyes pull back to the road for the sixth time. That’s how many times he’s flicked his dazzling green eyes at me through this conversation.
“Already?” We’ve only been driving for a little over an hour, but I already drank the coffee and an entire bottle of water.
“Yep. Gotta get my water intake in. Even on the road.” I hold up the empty bottle with a shake.
“Thirsty much?” He wiggles his eyebrows, causing a lump the size of a chestnut in my throat. What has gotten into my best friend? He’s never indicated before that he sees me as more than a little sister or a platonic friend. Dirty jokes aremything. Flirting with him ismything. Making him blush ismything. This is not typical best friend banter.
