“She’s a troll,” I say, laughing because I know if Lennon were in the vicinity she’d kick my shin and pinch the skin on the underside of my arm.
“Brady,” Addison scolds.
I cup her face, my thumbs stroking her soft skin. It probably wasn’t easy for her just now, having to interact with someone I thought I was in love with.
Was I in love with Lennon? I think so. But being with Addison makes me question how I felt about anybody, ever. She’s a fresh breath of air for a soul who didn’t know it was being deprived.
“Addison, you are beautiful. Inside and out. Your blue eyes have little brown flecks in them. Your nose is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and I don’t think I’ve ever thought a nose was cute before. Your lips are the prettiest shade of pink, and they’re so kissable that I,” I lean forward and plant a feather-light kiss on her.
“Just.” Another kiss.
“Can’t.” A third one.
“Help myself.” And a fourth, for good measure.
“Brady,” Addison closes her eyes and breathes my name. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I came here to escape, Addison. But every day I’m feeling more and more… found.”
A sound comes from Addison’s throat, a strangled, low moan. She’s on me in a flash, tugging down my shorts and pulling off her own. She sinks onto me, letting me fill her, and kisses me, long, slow, and deep.
She doesn’t say anything more, and neither do I. We don’t need to speak when our bodies are talking, saying everything for us.
Afterward we collapse into an exhausted, sweaty, sticky heap. Her blonde hair splays across my chest, her head rising and falling with my still-quickened breathing.
My fingers brush through her hair and I stare down at the profile of her face, the curve of her back, her long legs stretched out.
The words are there, on the tip of my tongue, but I hold them in because it’s too soon.
Too soon to feel the way I do. It’s impractical, inexplicable.
In a matter of weeks, this woman has taken my messy world and set it back on its axis.
I don’t know what my future holds, but I damn sure know who’s in it.
* * *
“You ready, cowgirl?”I reach over and tap the brim of Addison’s hat. I have no idea how she managed to get a cowboy hat between late yesterday afternoon and this morning.
“Sure am,” she drawls, grabbing her purse from the floorboard of my truck and winding her arm through the strap.
We meet at the back of my truck, and just like this morning when I met her at the main house, she makes me pause and fumble for words. She’s wearing a bright red sundress that falls to the middle of her thighs, and matching cowgirl boots. As if her outfit isn’t enticing enough, there is no back to the dress, except for two straps that run like an x. When I saw that, I’d had to bite the skin on the underside of my lip to keep from dragging her into the trees and showing her how much I liked it.
We link hands and walk through the dusty parking lot to the arena. Around us are men and women in Levi’s and boots, and more cowboy hats than I’ve ever seen in one place. That’s saying something, considering I grew up in the desert southwest.
I don’t look the part. I have on jeans, but they aren’t cowboy tight. My shirt is collared, and the sleeves are rolled up onto my forearms. I don’t have boots, but my tennis shoes are leather. Does that count?
“Brady, we should get a hat for you,” Addison says as we walk by vendors. She stops at one and picks up a tan hat, holding it up to me. One eye closes as she considers it.
“Nah,” she says, replacing it and looking around. Her eyes light up and she pounces on a hat a few feet away. “This one,” she declares, bringing it over.
I take the black hat from her and place it on my head. The woman working the booth comes forward with a mirror.
“Hats pick the wearer, you know,” she intones seriously. “And that hat has certainly chosen you.”
I look in the mirror. After I get over the shock of seeing myself in a cowboy hat, I agree it’s the one. Addison does a little dance, then slips her arm through mine.
“You might have to wear that later,” she says under her breath.
