Page 130 of The Right Kind of Wrong

The idea of there being something wrong between them didn’t sit right with her. Casual didn’t need to mean complacent.

All her life, she’d done whatever would cause the fewest waves.

Unfortunately, for Monroe, that wasn’t the case with her.

She’d opened up something inside of Blake. Something that made her brasher and more dogged and willing to stand up for her own opinions and fight for what she wanted.

And what she wanted was Monroe.

She wasn’t giving up that easily.

The sun had set, but Blake could still make out the first few rows of vehicles in the parking lot. It was still hot. The sounds of katydids and crickets clicked and whirred through the muggy air, accompanied by the percussion of car doors opening and closing.

She walked through the rows of cars. Monroe wasn’t standing next to Holland’s SUV, which was parked in the middle of the lot.

Back and forth, Blake walked. She already felt beads of sweat on her brow, which she wiped away quickly. Like clockwork, more sprang up in their wake.

God, she couldn’t wait to get back to the air-conditioning. Preferably with Monroe in tow.

When she hit the last lap, to do one more pass across the front, she noticed a lone figure at the edge of the building, leaning against it.

If they’d have been wearing a tipped hat and holding a lit cigarette, they’d have looked like the sexiest cowboy silhouette Blake had ever seen.

Because this cowboy—cowgirl, actually—had her head tipped back as she stared up at the stars. Her tight outfit contoured around her ample curves, creating a soft profile that Blake had mapped extensively over the last week.

Monroe hadn’t seen her yet. Her phone was cradled in her hands, her eyes a million miles away.

“Is Maisie okay?” Blake asked when she stepped into Monroe’s space.

Monroe hit her with a slow, thoughtful look, then blinked a few times and smiled. It was the first genuine one that Blake had seen on her tonight. “Yeah. She just wanted to call and say good night before Denny got her to bed.”

Blake softened. She walked slowly, like Monroe was a wild animal she didn’t want to scare off.

When she reached the wall Monroe was leaning against, she leaned back, too, and looked up at the sky. “You want to tell me what you meant inside?” she asked.

She could hear Monroe’s slow inhale next to her. Without looking over, she found Monroe’s hand near her own and entangled their fingers.

At least Monroe let it happen. That was something, as far as progress went.

“I just don’t like being wrong,” Monroe finally said, her voice soft but edged with frustration.

In her minutes spent searching for Monroe, and for even longer inside, Blake had been trying to figure out where things had gone off the rails. The only difference between last night and today was— “Is this about Holland?”

Monroe ran her free hand through her tangle of curls. Blake wished she could watch, but she kept her eyes focused doggedly upward.

“Yes. No. Argh.” Monroe relinquished her hand, pushed off the wall, and started pacing. Blake didn’t like that they weren’t holding hands anymore, but she didn’t mention it. They had bigger issues than Blake’s constant need to be touching Monroe. Finally, Monroe turned toward Blake, leveling her with a serious look. “I invited you out so that we could spend time together. Without Maisie.”

There was clearly something Blake was missing. “Well, Maisie isn’t here . . .”

Monroe let out, quite possibly, the most frustrated sound Blake had ever heard. “Blake,” she said, a pained tone to her voice.

“I feel like you think I’m being difficult, but I promise I’m not trying to be.” She hoped, at least, that Monroe could see that. Blake would never intentionally cause whatever strife Monroe was experiencing. Blake kicked off the wall, too, so that she could stand directly in front of her. “I thought that having Holland here would make things easier. No weird looks or questions from the especially brave. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to do, and I’m sorry.”

Blake closed the last few inches of space between them so that she could run her hands down Monroe’s arms. Monroe, again, allowed the contact without protest.

And then Monroe stomped her foot like an honest-to-god whining pony, her nostrils flaring. “I wanted it to be you and me. Us. Besides making sure that Maisie is stable, I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks about me. I don’t want to make you feel like a secret. You’re the best thing about this town, and anyone would be lucky to get to spend a Saturday night with you.”

Monroe’s chest was heaving, her cheeks pink. She bit her lip, like she hadn’t just expected to say so much, so quickly.