Oh fuck. My chest tightens. How could this be going south already? We just got in the truck five minutes ago.
“Felt what?” I groan, my cock already pressing at my zipper.
“Really? You’re going to play dumb? Maybe if we just acknowledge it, we don’t have to feel weird all week.”
That’s fair, and there might be some truth in that. This stuff has a way of feeling bigger in the dark. That said, the light is a slippery slope to terrible decisions.
“Okay,” I swallow hard, “yeah. I felt something. Somehow you look better than ever,” I pause, my cock pulsing as my palms ache to pull over and make her mine, “and I missed you.”
“Missed me implies you still think about me.” She bites back a smile.
“I do.”
There’s a slow moment of silence as she twists her hair to the side. “I think about you too… sometimes. Not all the time, but…sometimesI think about you.”
“Have you dated?”
Fuck. Why did I ask her that?
I don’t glance toward her, but I hear the grin in her voice as she says, “Why does it matter if I’ve dated, Mr. Wilder?”
“It doesn’t. I’m sorry I asked, but… I’m just curious, filling in the timeline. So, have you dated?”
“I have dated, yeah.”
My stomach churns as I think about some little asshole with his grimy, little hands on her. “You still dating?”
She shakes her head as I pull past the ice cream shop on the outer edge of town. “Guys my age are all a pain in the ass. The last guy I was seeing took me for fast-food tacos and didn’t bother to walk me back to my car.” She shrugs. “I’m over it.”
I shouldn’t lean into this thought. We need to keep things professional, though my mouth moves before I convince it to shut up. “You deserve the best, angel.”
“You called me angel again.”
“Fuck, sorry. It’s habit.”
“That’s okay.” She brushes her hand down over her thick thighs. “I kind of like it.”
My cock does too. My cock really fucking likes that she likes it, which is why I need to change the subject.
“Okay then. You, ugh, excited about this new job?”
She laughs. “No, not at all. I have no idea what I was thinking, getting an accounting degree. I hate numbers, but my parents were pressuring me to do something responsible, and this seemed like the most responsible job to get.”
“What do you wish you’d done?”
She shakes her head and hides a pretty little smile. “It’s stupid.”
“Nothing you say is stupid.”
“Is that right?” She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m pretty sure this one is genuinely stupid.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“You remember that conversation we had at the ice cream shop,” she turns toward me, excitement in her tone as she says, “about the flower farm? How I could grow and sell to local vendors, maybe even have a stand by the road?”
I nod, my chest expanding at the sound of her excitement. “I remember that conversation very clearly. You loved the idea of working with your hands and making something real.”
She exhales softly. “Well, I told my parents I was thinking about dropping out of college and using the rest of my tuition money to pay for a farm, and they laughed.” There’s a pause as she stares out the front window and into the night. “It wasn’t a chuckle. They laughed hard. In the end, I listened, but… I regretit, and now I owe thirty-five grand to the fine people at the bank, and I start my long journey to pay it all back tomorrow.”
