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We shake hands, and he raises his arm in a good-bye as I rush back to my date with a siren.
29
Harley
If he abandoned me on a date once again, I will do serious damage to his…something. I will find something he loves and…his truck.
I will go Carrie Underwood on his sweet, little baby-blue Chevy, and he will have to grovel on his hands and knees through the wreckage to—
There it is, pulling up with a sexy baby Brad Pitt in the driver’s seat. He hops out, rushing toward me and grabbing my hands.
“Baby, I’m so sorry. I had to…” He trails off, looking down and sighing. “I went over to the campus police and—”
I rise up on my toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “I forgive you, just don’t do it again. I thought you had abandoned me,” I say. The mere mention of the police makes my stomach cramp from bad memories.
Walking up to the truck to pat the hood, I silently apologize for my threats of headlight-smashing violence. He runs ahead of me to open the passenger door, watching me climb in. I breathe in the old-car smell.
Once he’s back on the driver side his muscled forearms flex as he starts to manhandle the gearshift. I’m squirming in my seat, and I lean up to adjust the AC. He’s wearing the jeans with natural worn holes and a white T-shirt with a faded yellow deer jumping on the front. I wonder if farmers also hunt, and I realize I know very little about his former life.
“I will not ever abandon you,” he says with conviction, bringing my thoughts back to the present.
His eyes are studying the road, and mine are studying his skin.
What would it be like to have someone in my life to depend on?
“So…where are we going?” I ask, attempting not to sound too overexcited to spend the day with him.
He grins, making my heart trip over itself. “Are you hungry?”
I nod vigorously. “Yes, please, food and caffeine first.”
He reaches over the seat to grab for my hand, intertwining our fingers and resting them on the polyester seat. I sigh, leaning my head back, hair lifting up around me in the fresh morning air. The windows are down, and the sky is blue. I’ve never been happier.
We’re the youngest patrons in the tiny Mexican restaurant. We both order the same giant egg, bacon, and cheese burrito, but Adam has to finish mine off. We act like we’ve done this a hundred times. The coffee is subpar, but the company is superb. He swipes for the check as soon as the waitress drops it off.
We’re back in the truck, driving along the busier streets, headed somewhere I’ve never been. He’s a beautiful portrait, hanging in some rich rancher’s house. Classic country boy wearing white and denim, driving an old, beat-up pickup. I’m leaning back against the passenger seat, watching him take control. I don’t have to worry about anything; the map is in his mind. Our fingers are playing with each other the way we wish our whole bodies were.
It’s like we’re past talking now. We both know what we’re thinking and feeling. The sounds of traffic and the mid-Saturday city bustle is just enough to keep us from losing our heads from the tension.
We finally pull up to our destination, and I squeal embarrassingly at the sight of it.
“Ahh, finally!” I jump out of the truck, not waiting on him to open my door like he has been all day.
He bellows a laugh, following me in through the open doorway. The interior is a rainforest; every shade of green that God created is speckled through the rows of plants. My favorite color, obviously. I adore the ones so rich they almost glow. I’m obsessed with checking magazines to read about the species of plants still being discovered to this day.
He follows me through the nursery, silently shadowing my obsessive evaluation of each and every one. I take time to read about their care, where they originated from, and what climate they thrive in.
“Why do you love plants so much?” he asks curiously. He bends over to pick up a discarded Styrofoam cup on the ground, throwing it in a nearby garbage can.
“They have to be cared for just so, or they die. But some of them don’t; they’re resilient to the elements. Like succulents. They go so long without water you’d think there’s no way they could survive. And yet…they do. They don’t need much. Others need just the right amount of sun, water, fertilization…I guess you know all this,” I say, turning away in embarrassment.
He gently grips my arm, turning me back. “I just think of them as something to grow to make a living. I’ve never thought of them as something to love.”
He lifts my hand to press a kiss to it, eyes trained on me. It starts out innocent until his mouth hovers over my hand, and it suddenly feels intimate.
“Well, they’re…it’s…” I suck in as he starts to kiss up my arm, slowly pulling me toward him.
We’re in the back part of the nursery, the display of leafy ferns concealing us from most of the light-filled greenhouse. He’s pulling me closer, never breaking eye contact. I feel like I’m underwater, unable to take in oxygen. His gaze has darkened. His lips are half-kissing, half-sucking on my sensitive skin. He pulls my hand all the way around to rest on his lower back, positioning me right where he wants me, flush against his solid body. His other hand reaches up under my loose hair, cradling the back of my head with strong fingers.
