I do a quick glance back at the gaggles of parents, all perfectlysatisfied chatting away. Benny will be there at some point, fashionably late as usual, to entertain them.
‘C’mon.’ I pull myself from the bench and hold out a hand for Jordan. ‘I got something you’re gonna want to see.’
‘Right now?’ She takes my hand, though. As lax players, we’re frequent flyers in the way of callouses and rough palms, but her hand is soft, just slightly smaller than mine. Standing close enough to her, I realize she’s not that much shorter than me, either.
‘Right now. Past the fences.’ I gesture to the quaint white picket fence separating the backyard from the rest of the property. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not trespassing when your sister owns the place. Besides, it’s worth it.’
‘Fine.’ Jordan smirks, almost daringly, and hell, I’ll accept the challenge. ‘Let’s do it, hotshot.’
Chapter Nine
Pinch Me
Jordan
Ishrug my jacket off my shoulders and sling it over my arm, still working on my beer as we round Rod’s sister’s house. We hop on a dirt path and, in the distance, I can see the lights on, dim but on, in a small barn with a fenced ring out front.
‘Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.’ I squint like an idiot, but I know ranching and farming well enough to recognize where he’s taking me. Which, by the way, is absolutely earth-shattering? We were flirting. Now we’re running away from a party together? I feel like a high-schooler again, in the best way – the get-away-with-anything way. My pulse is a million miles a minute. My brain is screaming all kinds of flashing red sirens, alarms going off, freaking out because of holy Rod Wilson. I steal sneaky glances at his strong forearms, folded-up sleeves, and the way his dark stubble highlights the cut of his jaw. It gets harder and harder to manage my stolen moments of pining when he starts to return them, and I catch him mid-look.
‘And what if it is?’ The shadow of a smile on his face becomes more obvious as we near the barn, the stables, washed in the light from the dull glow of the bulbs.
‘I would say “nice try” and laugh at you, but you’re a real thoughtful bastard, actually, so I can’t do that.’
‘Perfect. Got myself a good review.’ He holds the door to the barn open for me, that wonderful forearm keeping it from swinging back. ‘Take a look.’
A happy little gasp immediately escapes my mouth when I step in. The smell of straw and horse stench, as gross as it all is, is home, and I catch that scent immediately. Stables, for sure. My boots clop against the cobbled floor.Nicestables. Lamps hang from the gabled rafters, throwing a slight glow over the space. Horses whinny from behind stall doors. I get the briefest look at one of them, an absolutely majestic roan stallion with a tinge of white on his forehead.
I do an about-face to Rod, who leans against the doorway with a satisfied smile, arms crossed over his Carhartt vest all contently, dark eyes amused beneath long lashes.
‘Five stars,’ I remark as I walk back over to him. ‘A glowing testimonial on Yelp.’
‘Really? Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’ I throw my jacket over a wooden counter off to the side and hike myself up so I’m sitting on the counter itself, my boots just dangling above the ground.
Rod eyes me warily, and then with something that’s decidedly not just wariness. ‘Do you …’
‘Out with it,’ I say, even though my hand is actively clenchingmy beer bottle in anticipation so hard I think it might shatter to pieces. The air between us feels like it’s trapping electricity.
‘What if …’
‘Holy smokes, Wilson,’ the exasperation finally rolls right off my tongue like the smooth taste of the beer I set down beside me, leaning forward and hopping off the counter. ‘If you’re going to make a move, go on ahead and do it, already—’
His lips crash onto mine at the conclusion of my sentence. His thumbs are warm against my jaw, and my arms instinctively find a place for themselves across his broad shoulders. The taste of beer and s’mores is multiplied, washing over my senses. I am actively kissing Rod Wilson.I am actively. Kissing. Rod Wilson.
Actually. On technicality.Rod Wilson just kissed me.
We pull away, breath quickening on both our parts. My chest heaves against his. I think we’re both a little taken aback. But I know I’m not upset about this development and, judging from the unfiltered longing in Rod’s eyes as he scans my face, I don’t think he is, either.
‘Again?’ I propose ever-so-intelligently in a single breath.
‘Again,’ agrees Rod.
The less I question, the better it feels. After college years spent settling for mama’s boys and frat guys, tall, dark and handsome hits a little too well. Rod is just the right amount of slow and gentle, the right amount of desperate to get closer. One of his hands makes its way down to my hip and pulls me so I’m flush against him. I grip him to me in turn, my palms pressing into the quilted fabric of his barn vest.
Our kisses become more and more frenzied, picking up pace. This is better than the dream. It’s so much better than the dream when his lips reach that spot behind my ear, and a muffledmoan leaves me, one that I try to stifle into his shoulder. The hand that had sat on my waist moves to my butt, and I clutch Rod even tighter, fingers tangling themselves in that soft, dark hair of his, as his lips find mine again in a hungry, wild kiss. We’re in a fucking barn, and I’m losing my mind. I need every piece of clothing between us anywhere but. It’s not helping me exercise restraint that he’s still actively got a hand on my ass, and I can feel the evidence of his satisfaction against my thigh.
‘Holy shit,’ he says through heavy breaths. ‘What are we doin’?’
