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“Macie, I cannot wear a new ring, necklace, or whatever, knowing I bought it with the money I received from selling my engagement ring. Chad’s negative energy would still be tied to it, so no.”
“I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.”
“Sister, stick to your plan about Chad. I’d do the same thing,” Rachel said, tapping the rim of her cup against mine. Then she, Macie, and I began chatting about our friends from high school who’d come to the pasture party.
Some were hanging around their vehicles, while some were walking around visiting with others. I planned to catch up with them, but not yet. I was enjoying leaning against the tailgate of Rhys’s truck while stealing glances at him over by the bonfire with Jackson. They’d just got it going.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Rachel asked me while grabbing a chocolate chip cookie.
“Going to see Grandma.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Thanks, but Rhys already offered. Afterward, we’re going to stop by his parents’ house. They asked him about seeing me before I head back to Fort Worth.”
“Then you should know they still have pictures of you and Rhys on their walls.”
My mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“Trisha must’ve hated that.”
“Rob and Janice weren’t concerned about her. They never liked her but tolerated her for Rhys.”
“Wow.”
“I mentioned the pictures because I didn’t want you to be shocked when you saw them.”
“I appreciate you telling me. And I like that Rob and Janice kept them up. Is that bad of me?”
“No!” Rachel and Macie said together.
Rhys and Jackson began walking in our direction with the bonfire smoking behind them. They had just reached us when someone hollered their names. It was Glenn Smith. He was standing several yards away, holding up a football and smiling.
After Rhys graduated from high school, Glenn became the varsity quarterback. Rhys had mentored him the previous year, and Jackson later played for him.
“You boys up to having some real fun this evening?” Glenn yelled.
Rhys and Jackson looked at my sister and me. We waved them off, telling them to go. Jackson pointed at the flattest part of his pasture, but before Rhys headed to it with him and Glenn, he grabbed his ballcap off the dashboard of Black Betty and put it on backward while looking at me. He knew how much I’d always loved the way he looked with it that way. He was my country boy and jock all in one.
As he took off running to the far end of the pasture, several other guys who’d once been part of the Cypress Hills High School athletic program began running toward it, too. All of us not participating in the game walked in the same direction and stood on an invisible sideline, watching the guys in their huddles on the makeshift football field. Then, the masculine display of athleticism began.
With the players in their positions, Glenn hiked the football to Rhys. He took several steps backward and torpedoed the ball into Jessie Weaver’s hands. As Jessie made the first touchdown, I looked back at Rhys and saw his smiling blue eyes looking at me. I pointed at him, clapped my hands, and twisted my hips, being his cheerleader again.
The light-hearted game continued for about a half-hour. After Rhys and the players on his team won, everyone started walking back toward the bonfire, except for me. I waited for Rhys on the invisible sideline.
As he approached me, he took off his ballcap and ran his fingers through his sweaty blond hair. It was so easy for me to imagine him wearing his high school black and gold football uniform and holding his helmet.
“Awesome game! I’ve always loved watching you play, Silverman,” I told him.
He didn’t say a word. He just kept looking at me with a mischievous grin on his face. The moment he reached me, he pulled me into his arms, slid his right hand down to my ass, and squeezed it. Then he kissed me, but not the way he had earlier. This time, it was deep, wet, and delicious.
Rhys still had his hand on my ass, his lips on mine, and his long velvety tongue in my mouth when someone started blasting “Small Town Boy” by Dustin Lynch on their car’s speakers.
“Timing, my small-town boy,” I said, pulling back to look at him.
“Great timing. Are you my ride or die, like the song says?”
