She pulls back just enough so my finger is no longer touching her and lowers her eyes again. I see the shift in her posture as her shoulders roll in a little and know she’s about to tell me no, so I don’t give her a chance. “I’ll follow you.”
“Okay,” she says softly after a short pause. I close the trunk of her car, then grab her cart so I can return it. “I guess I’ll see you.” She looks like she doesn’t know what to do for a second, then dashes toward her car door.
The moment I have the cart returned, I jog to my truck and toss the bags on the seat while simultaneously putting the key in the ignition and trying to call Oz.
“Where are you?” I ask as soon as he answers.
“Why?” I can hear his pissy tone, even in the single word.
“I ran into her at the grocery store. I’m following her back to her house.”
“Bro, you’re stalking her?”
“No, she knows I’m behind her,” I defend.
“Is that why she’s not answering the door?”
“Who’s the stalker now?” I knew he was going to show up at her house. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon. He must have gone as soon as he got off the bus.
“I needed to apologize, and she wouldn’t answer my calls.” He’s defensive now.
“She’ll be there in a few minutes. She’s a little more standoffish than before.”
“Your fault,” Oz snaps, telling the truth.
“I know, but I’m trying to fix that, and I called you,” I remind him, so he knows I’m not trying to steal her from him.
“Why are you calling me anyway? I can tell you like her.”
“You do too,” I explain.
“Yeah,” he admits easily. “Not that I’m opposed to banging her, but I…”
“Oz,” I warn.
“Can you let me finish?”
“Make it quick, we’re almost there,” I urge, hurrying him along.
“I want to get to know her. I’ve got to go, she’s pulling in,” Oz says in a rush. The line goes dead just as Waylynn makes the tight turn into her driveway.
“I want to do a lot more than get to know her,” I mumble under my breath after ditching the phone on the seat.
SHAKY GROUND
WAYLYNN
“Oh crap!” I holler and slam on the brakes when Oswald steps into my driveway. He hops back and waves me forward. My heart is beating so fast, I’m hesitant to hit the gas, but I inch forward enough so my trunk is near the path to the kitchen door.
“What are you doing? I could have hit you,” I say as soon as I’m out of the car.
“You had miles,” he replies dismissively.
“You scared the heck out of me.” I turn to the left and watch his brother coast into the driveway and park behind me. “He was at the grocery store,” I explain.
“He called me,” Oswald answers.
“Oh.” That catches me off guard. Gravlin, Memphis, exits his truck, and the door doesn’t squeal. A small smile graces my lips, and I don’t even really know why. Seeing the two bags in his hands reminds me to open the trunk. Thankfully, I don’t fumble like I did in the parking lot.
