FOUR
Daniela
The fifteen minute drive back to set was the longest drive of my life.
I had nothing to say. Me. Daniela Morales, who had never once in her life been at a loss for words, who had charmed casting directors and navigated industry parties and talked her way into rooms she had no business being in—completely, utterly silent.
Because I knew what was about to happen.
Sawyer drove with one hand on the wheel and one on the center arm rest, the New Mexico desert stretching flat and dusty in every direction. The radio was low—country, of course. I didn’t register the song.
I registered his hands on the wheel.
I registered the way the dashboard light caught the medal at his throat.
I registered that my thighs were pressed together and had been since we'd walked out of the bar and he'd put his hand at the small of my back for exactly two seconds and then taken it away.
Two seconds.
I was losing my mind over two seconds.
The scrub rolled past in the headlights and I looked out the window and tried to think about something else. But I couldn’t think about anything except the trailer at the end of this drive and what was going to happen when we got there. What I'd asked for. What he'd said yes to without saying anything at all, just two more to the bartender and his hand finding my waist as we walked out.
"You okay?" he said.
His voice in the dark of the truck cab did not help the situation. His voice did things to me that I was not proud of.
“I’m…” I paused.
Looked at him.
Found him staring at the road.
“I amshamefullyattracted to you,” I blurted out.
He snorted. “Shameful, huh? Come on…I’m not that bad, am I?”
“No, it’s not you,” I rushed to correct him. “Shameful as in—I cannot wait to be in your bed? Or…bent over a table or even…I don’t know, just propped up on a fence or a wall if that’s where you want me.”
He was quiet for a second.
"Propped up on a fence," he said.
"I'm just saying I'm flexible."
"I can see that." His hand moved from the armrest to the gearshift, which was closer to my knee, which was—not relevant. "I appreciate the options."
I looked out the window. My face was hot. "Sorry…I've had tequila."
"How much have you had?"
The question came out different than everything else he'd said tonight, making me turn to look at him. He was watching the road but there was a line between his brows that hadn't been there a second ago.
"Two shots and two beers," I said. "Over four hours."
He didn't say anything.
"Sawyer." I turned in my seat to face him. "I am not drunk. I am warm and I am happy and I have wanted this for an embarrassingly long time and I just told you I'd let you prop me up on a fence, which I would not have said if I wasn't comfortable with you." I paused. "The tequila is not why I'm in this truck."
