Page 7 of His Eighth Ride

“Tag,” she whispered, her eyes falling closed in a long blink.

“Yeah?” The whole world had fallen away, and Tag’s heart labored to pump out enough blood, enough oxygen, to reach everywhere in his body.

“Thank you for the couch,” she said.

“Did you like it?”

“I sure did.” She looked up at him again, and Tag didn’t know everything about Opal Hammond yet. He couldn’t always read her expression and know exactly what she was thinking.

But right now, he somehow knew that what she really wanted for her birthday was…a kiss.

He lowered his head, about to make a complete fool of himself or hit a homerun. He honestly didn’t know which. He knew Opal’s fingers fisted in his collar. He knew her eyes drifted closed again. He knew she wasn’t going to stop him.

So he touched his mouth to hers, expecting fire and getting it instantly. Now, all he could do was hope he didn’t go down in flames.

three

Opal had not come outside to kiss Tag. Or maybe she had. All she’d known was that he’d left early, before she’d had a chance to finish their conversation from his cabin. The one her brother had interrupted, and neither of them had been able to get back to.

Now, however, that she’d tasted this man’s lips, she couldn’t let go. She’d never been kissed so tenderly. So hesitantly and yet so absolutely surely.

She didn’t know how to stop, and everything melted away. The cold. The urgency to get back inside before someone came looking for her at her own party. All of it.

The only thing that existed was Tag, and the magical way he cared for her.

In the end, she couldn’t get the strength to pull back. He did it, and he took in a long breath as he continued to hold her face in his hands. Then he pulled her against his chest, and Opal had never fit so well against another person.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Opal’s eyes fluttered open. “I shouldn’t have….” He cleared his throat. “I just want to get a date on the calendar. I didn’t mean to kiss you before we’ve even gone out.”

“I don’t mind,” Opal murmured. “It’s not like we’re strangers.” She lifted her head and looked at him. “Dinner tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes so dark in the shadows. “Dinner tomorrow sounds good. I’ll, uh, call around and find somewhere nice.”

“I don’t care where we eat,” Opal said. She had once, maybe. She’d wanted to be picked up by a man in a suit, his woodsy, crisp cologne stinging her nose. She loved fancy dresses, and wearing dark red lipstick, and eating in nice steakhouses.

But that life hadn’t suited her, and Opal knew it now. “I like tacos,” she said. “And those fast-casual pizzas where you can make your own, and buffalo wings.” She gave him a smile, which he handsomely returned.

“I can’t take a woman like you for wings on our first date,” Tag said with plenty of conviction, though his voice couldn’t travel more than a few feet. “I may not have been out with anyone in a while, but I know better than that.”

“How long?” Opal asked.

“Opal?” someone called behind her, and it sounded dangerously like Molly. Maybe Gerty. Maybe Britt. No matter who, Opal stepped out of Tag’s embrace and said, “We’ll talk tomorrow night.”

“Yeah,” he said, and Opal turned to head back to the farmhouse. “Yep.” His voice echoed behind her, and she rushed up the steps to the kitchen, where Molly held the door.

“There you are,” she said. “Sorry, I hope I wasn’t interrupting.” She looked into the darkness where Opal had come from, but when Opal turned back and looked, she couldn’t see anything. Surely Molly couldn’t either.

“Nothing to interrupt,” Opal said, though that wasn’t quite true. Everyone seemed to know about her crush on Tag—probably because she’d told them. She didn’t mind them knowing, but she didn’t want to talk about Tag right now.

“Did you get a date on the calendar?” Molly asked as she pulled the door closed behind them. In the warmth of the kitchen, Opal shrugged out of her brother’s coat.

She beamed at Molly. “Tomorrow night, but I’m not talking about it, okay? Can we just go back to the party and pretend I just had to run to the bathroom?” She gave Molly a bright smile. “Please?”

“Depends,” Molly said as she picked up another plastic cup with celery, carrot, and cucumber sticks. The ranch dressing had been poured inside too, and she swirled a carrot around in it.

“On?”

“On if you’re going to text out how the date went,” Molly said. “Gerty’ll want to know, I’m sure. Jane. Maybe even Britt.”

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