Page 37 of Hauling Ashe

“Yeah.” I weakly smile at her sympathizing grin.

Sons can be that way. I remember when I was one.

17

OKLAHOMA – DAY 3

Playlist: “Blown Away” – Carrie Underwood

[Tucker]

To my surprise, I felt a little lighter than I expected sharing what I shared with Mae. The topic was heavy but telling a stranger hadn’t been as difficult as I thought. Maybe because Mae was still a stranger in so many ways, her opinion of my tale didn’t matter. Then again, deep inside, I realize that I do care what Mae thinks of me.

While Mae promised she’d stay on her half of the bed, I wake with her body molded to my back and a hand on my ass—inside my shorts. Laying on my stomach, her cheek presses into my shoulder blade while one of her legs is hitched over one of mine. She shifts to rub her nose against my spine and absentmindedly presses a kiss to my back before settling into position again.

Softly, I chuckle, and she stiffens. The air stands still before Mae yanks her hand free of my shorts and pulls away from me, rolling onto her back. I lift my head, moving it on the pillow so I can face her. Remaining on my belly, I press the hard length of my dick into the mattress in hopes of keeping it from Mae’s attention. He’ll need his own special attention once I can slip into the bathroom.

“Good morning.” I greet her.

“I was not hitting on you.” Her declaration comes so fast the words rush together and panicked eyes meet mine before flicking back toward the ceiling.

On our first day together, I’d accused her of hitting on me, where she made it clear she wasn’t. I hadn’t wanted that kind of behavior because of my past, but I also wanted Mae to know me. I wanted her to like me. Not the former husband. Not the widower. Not the businessman. Not even the failed rock star. Just me. And I was convinced she wouldn’t once she learned more about me.

“I don’t know why I did that.” She says to the ceiling, refusing to look at me. “I’m used to sleeping alone. I only sleep on one side of the bed. I never move around.”

I know what she means but I’m not complaining. I’m not even suggesting she was attempting something with me. Her body against mine felt nice, comforting and warm, safe and…hopeful. Subconsciously, I might have known she was there because I slept like a rock. After spilling my guts to her last night, I thought I’d fight the memories and wrestle the regrets, but I slipped blissfully into sleep after only momentary thoughts of the past.

I couldn’t change what my father did.

I couldn’t change what my grandfather had asked of me.

I couldn’t change my decisions either.

“Don’t worry about it.” My eyes roam the topography of her body, noting the hills of her breasts and the curve of her hips. Next, I focus on her lips. Mae has lips begging to be kissed. She said last night sharing a bed doesn’t need to mean anything and it doesn’t. It shouldn’t. But I can’t shake the feeling inside me that we’re crossing more than bridges, one slow step at a time.

Mae rolls to her side and scoots off the bed, still avoiding a glance at me. “I’m going to get dressed.” The statement says everything. We need to keep moving. We shouldn’t linger, especially in bed.

But her lips need to be kissed and I want to be the lucky bastard who kisses her.

While she heads for the bathroom, I shift to my back and scrub two hands down my face before reaching for my phone. Picking up the device before I even leave the sheets is a terrible habit. If I were home, I’d hit the gym and rid myself of the tension under my skin. I also need to ward off the raging hard-on I have. Mae had her hand on my ass, but her nearness alone brings on desire and raises my dick to full mast. Her scent lingers beside me, and I want to turn into her pillow, inhale her floral scent and whack off on these sheets.

Instead, I groan once more, toss down my phone and rise from bed.

+ + +

The hotel offers breakfast, but Mae and I decide to stop at a coffee shop for a quick cup and something light. We had enough food on bread yesterday—a sandwich, a burger—and I’m hoping I can convince her to pick up the pace on our journey and have a decent steak later when we arrive in Texas, today’s destination.

“Look, it’s one of those leave-a-book, take-a-book shelves.” Mae points to the bookshelf as we wait for our coffee order. I nod with disinterest and Mae picks up a book. Doing a double take, I instantly recognize the title and the woman on the cover.

Mae runs her hand affectionately down the jacket of the hardcover. “I’ve read everything she wrote.” Admiration fills her softened voice. “She really helped motivate me to take charge of my life and quit taking Adam’s bullshit.” Her palm rubs once more over the paper covering.

“So sad how she died.” Her head pops up and there’s a look in her eyes. One that is tender but puzzled. Her brows pinch. She drops her gaze back to the book, flipping it over. There’s another image on the back plus a brief biography of the author including her path as a motivator, an influencer, a supporter of women, and her devotion to her family which included a husband and two loving children.

“Rochelle Ashe was an inspiration,” Mae offers, speaking affectionately to the book.

“She was a liar.” The harsh truth escapes before I can contain the words.

“Ashe,” the barista hollers, calling out our order. “Ashe with an e.”