But now that I’m parked in front of the Blackwood home, checking my breath for the tenth time, I worry that this truck gives off the wrong impression—at least for this audience of one.It’s a bit flashy—the dash has more touchscreens and tech than steering wheel and odometer. And these new jeans I’m wearing, fuck if they aren’t tight. I adjust myself and bend my knees to work out a little more space, but to no avail. There’s zero chance I’m not going to sport obvious wood in these things. Only way to avoid it is if I strap my cock to my thigh with duct tape.
The sky is a dusty blue, striped with faint purple clouds that are quickly disappearing as dusk turns to night. The air is sweet from the flowering milkweeds, and holds crispness as if the temperature is deciding whether or not it wants to be chilly. This place is a long way from home and full of possibilities. I breathe it in and take my first step toward the front porch, and the door swings open before I can knock.
“Took you long enough,” Renleigh huffs, popping the screen door open and nodding over her shoulder to urge me inside.
The television on in the background, and sounds like one of those reality shows where contestants have to nearly die or eat dirt to win a hundred bucks.
“You were waiting for me to pull up?”
I shut the door behind me as she moves into the sitting room toward her dad, a sweatshirt slung over her arm, along with a green fanny pack-looking thing.
“I’m starving, so yeah . . . I was waiting for you to pull up. And then you were standing out there for what felt like forever. I was ten seconds away from heating up a frozen dinner and calling it a night.” There’s a twinkle in her eye, along with a slight lift on one side of her mouth, as she glances at me with what I’m going to classify as a smirk.
“You’re giving me shit,” I say.
“I’m giving you shit.” She bends down and kisses her dad on the cheek, and he offers me a thumbs up when her back is turned. I cross my fingers, then do the sign of the cross for good measure, which makes him chuckle.
“All right, I’m separating you two,” Renleigh says as she faces me.
She’s putting up a tough front, but a few signs point in my favor. For one, her hair is down. I’ve only seen her a handful of times, but it’s always pulled into a ponytail or bun when she’s in work mode. It was up for my game today, too, which is probably normal for a game. But wavy blonde hair that she’s clearly styled, probably with one of those styling tools, is definitely date hair.
Second, she’s wearing heeled boots, black ones, up to her knees. Sure, they’re over tight jeans, but also . . . those aretightjeans. And the black shirt she’s wearing is fairly see-through, enough that I can see the details of the black lace bra underneath.
She’s going to be pissed when she finds out we aren’t going out for steak.
“Don’t wait up,” I say over my shoulder as I trail behind Renleigh to the door.
“I’ll be home early,” she adds, hitting me with a swift glare and pouty lips.
“We’ll see,” I hum.
The nerves I felt before have been replaced with a familiar rush. There’s something about being around Renleigh that makes me feel as though I’m stepping on the mound, about to face off with some fierce competition. While some guys might find it intimidating, my reaction is far different—I’m intrigued. No, more than that. I’m driven by it, and if I can somehow convince her to let me kiss her, just once, it might just shock my heart out of rhythm.
I hold the truck door open for her, and she actually takes my hand when I offer it to help her climb inside. Her skin is cool to the touch, and her nails glimmer with a shimmering white polish that reminds me of snow. They’re cut short, probably becauseit’s impossible to sling beers with talons on your hands, but they’re long enough to dig into skin if the mood is right.
And that thought right there tests my hard-on theory.
I shut Raleigh’s door and take a slow walk around the back of the truck to give me time to adjust myself. Fucking tight-ass jeans are doing the job.
“This is nice,” she says as I slide behind the wheel. She runs her fingertips across the dashboard screen, hovering over the temperature controls and turning her side up a few degrees. I keep the air low because this humidity is the real deal. I wasn’t prepared for it.
“Thanks. Not like I made it or anything. I mean, I basically picked it off a lot in Irvine, California, so really . . . zero skills on my part were involved. In fact, maybe I should write the CEO at Ford and pass the thanks on to him, since it’s his design and all that.” I buckle up and rev the engine before shifting into drive.
“I doubt the CEO had anything to do with it either. You can just hang on to the compliment, and if you ever sit next to some design engineer on a plane one day, pass it on to him.”
I chuckle and sort of love that she can bullshit with me.
“Will do,” I say with a nod.
I force myself to keep my eyes ahead as I pull down her street, despite the fact she’s running her palms and her perfect fingertips along her thighs.
“So, where did you want to go? There’s not much in town, but over in Jacksonville, there’s a smokehouse that’s pretty good, or?—”
“I was thinking maybe we could drive into the city. It’s a little over an hour, but there’s somewhere I need to go, and I could really use your advice.” I glance at her to gauge her reaction, and am met with bunched lips and a wrinkled brow. “I take it you weren’t kidding about that being hungry bit you said earlier.”
She shakes with a single, silent laugh, then folds her arms over her chest as she sets her attention back to the roadway ahead.
“It’s after seven, and I’ve only had a bucket of popcorn. I wasn’t kidding about being hungry.” Her tone is legitimately grumpy, and I’m tempted to abandon my grand plan altogether and ask for her directions to the smoke house. But then, she gives me an inch.
