Page 111 of Trailer Trash

“Thanks. I can’t believe I’m in college. I was never the school-type.”

“Me neither. That’s why I like dancing. Did you always want to be a nurse?”

“Yeah. My mom got breast cancer. I took care of her for a couple of years before she died.”

“I am sorry,” he says with sincerity.

“It’s okay. It taught me I like helping people that way. I’m a people person. I love talking to patients and moving around. I could never do remote work.”

“So being a nurse was always your plan for the future.”

“I mean, career-wise. I want to get married and have a family, too.” I sip my ice tea and add softly, “Do you?”

We’ve discussed it before, but now, I’m starving for specifics.

Immediately, I catch his eye twitch and he shrugs. “I had plans with Asher. We were going to travel the world, then do that.”

I tilt my head. “Marry each other?”

He laughs, loud and authentic. “I’m not gay.”

“Well!” I chuckle.

He smacks the tabletop in amusement. “No, Asher and I were close, but not that kind of close.”

I giggle, glad he isn’t offended by my assumption.

“Did you ever have a friend you planned a future with?” he asks.

“Sorta. Keysha and I were both planning to go to nursing school together. She became an EMT instead.”

He sits back in his chair, appearing calmer. “By the way, how do you feel?”

“Huh?” I think for a moment.

He smirks devilishly.

“Oh!”

The plug.

I squirm again, trying to ignore the fact that it’s comfortable yet has steadily become more noticeable. My body is more sensitive.

“I don’t particularly like it,” I reply smugly.

“No? Because you’ve been shifting in your chair more.” He licks his lips, that dangerous gaze too much to stare into for long.

My cheeks flush, but I won’t admit that I kind of like it.

It seems time flew by when I finish my meal. It is definitely less awkward than when my phone chimed, but I can tell it’s bothering him. I hang my head as we walk to the car. I could explain it’s Evan and totally harmless. Some guys get so jealous, though. The last thing I want to do is talk about my ex.

The drive is quiet. The flash of streetlights illuminates my legs as we pass them. I hold myself as I grow increasingly upset. I’ve been dying for this chance. It feels like maybe it’s over already.

Then—

I nearly gasp as his hand reaches over and rests on my thigh.

Reflexively, I place my hand over his, desperate to keep the connection. He doesn’t look at me and keeps driving, but his thumb strokes tenderly.