* * *
Mrs. Linton standson her front porch, waving goodbye. I wave back, mustering an exhausted smile, and climb into Connor’s truck.
“I thought the mountains were supposed to be cooler in the summertime.” The inside of Connor’s truck is sweltering, the stagnant air more like a fog. “I think I sweat through my shirt at least two hundred and seventy-two times today.”
Connor starts the truck and turns a couple knobs. Air blasts me, but it’s not cold yet.
“It’s a heat wave.” Pulling his blue T-shirt over his head, his eyes focus on mine as he tosses it in the backseat. “You don’t watch the news?”
I shake my head slowly. If he doesn’t have another shirt to put on, it’s going to be hard for me not to jump him while he’s driving. He leans across into the backseat. His ab muscles flex as his core holds him in place. Moving boxes and painting all day really sucked, but this display might be making it worth it.
Sitting up, Connor pulls a white T-shirt over his head. Why is he looking at me like that? Oh, right, he asked me a question.
“No, I don’t watch the news. Too many bad things on there.” That, and the fact that at one point,Iwas the bad thing on the news.
Connor doesn’t pick up on that, so I don’t share it. No need to put a damper on our time.
He drives away from Mrs. Linton’s house with a final wave at her. I watch in the side mirror as the sweet old woman walks back into her house. “I know I said we’d get blueberry muffins, but I need a shower first. You?”
He sniffs the air. “You really do need a shower.”
I smack his arm. “Not funny.”
“Want to save water? We can shower together.” He grins.
I tap the center of my lower lip with the pad of my finger. “I think I’ve seen that on a T-shirt somewhere.” He laughs like I’m kidding, but actually, I’m certain I have.
“What do you say?” He snatches my hand and holds it up, kissing the top.
“Drive faster to whoever’s house is closer.”
* * *
There’ssomething to be said for shower sex. It’s slippery and fun, but with Connor, everything is fun. Even dragging a limp Christmas tree across a garage.
We’re on our way to a small town east of Brighton.Sugar Creek.The name itself makes me want to go there.
I reach back, lifting the hair off the nape of my neck. I gather it into a small ponytail and attempt to twist it around my finger like I did a million times before I cut my hair. Sighing silently, I drop the hair. How long will it be before I can twist my hair into a bun that doesn’t have short pieces of hair sticking out like shards of broken glass?
“Birth control time,” Connor says when the alarm on my phone goes off in my purse. “You’re definitely going to need to take that pill today.”
Memories of what was happening half an hour ago flood my mind. I grab my purse and pull my little wheel of pills from the pocket. I pop the next one into my mouth and take a drink from my water.
“All set.” I toss my purse back down on the floor. “Ready for your next load.”
Connor lets out a surprised laugh and shakes his head. “You have the most incredible mouth.”
“That’s the second time today you’ve said that.”
“Hah,” he says loudly, his shoulders shaking.
I watch him laugh. He tips his head back every time he laughs. It’s only a little, his chin lifts just a few degrees, but it’s adorable, and when he laughs, he does it without reservation. So many of the guys I dated and spent time around concealed their laughter or happiness because they thought it made them look weak or less attractive. In my industry, attractiveness was paramount. If you acted like a happy-go-lucky, nice guy, you probably weren’t going to be admitted into the club. Girls like the challenge a brooding, reserved man offers, and the club wants the girls, because the guys want the girls. So many times I’d imagined tossing a wrench into the spinning gears and watching them grind to a halt. What would happen if everyone acted like themselves for a night?
“Lost in thought over there?” Connor’s voice filters through my memories of pulsing lights and manic music.
“Thinking about my past life, I guess.”
“Anything you want to share?”
