Page 11 of Until You

More at peace than I’ve been in a long time, I realize. And it’s not just the release. I know the difference. I’ve had plenty of one without the other.

This is something else.

“Wow,” she says finally, her breath warm against my throat.

“Very much wow.” I stare at the fogged windshield. Now what? I’ve done this before—not often, but enough—and it’s always simple. Simple because I make it simple. Get dressed. Drive away. Done.

This doesn’t feel simple. This feels like the opposite of simple.

She seems to reach the same conclusion at the same moment, because she gently lifts herself off me and starts feeling around the seat for her shirt. She finds it, pulls it over her head, and rights herself. Settles her underwear back into place with the kind of composure I respect and resent in equal measure.

I take care of the condom and tuck myself back into my jeans.

Then she leans over and kisses my cheek. Light and deliberate. “That was incredible,” she says quietly. “Unexpected. But incredible.”

I chuckle, and it comes out rougher than I intend. My hands are steadier than they have any right to be.

I glance over at her. She’s biting the inside of her lip, looking out at the dark fields like she’s reading something written in them.

“Why does this feel awkward?” I ask.

She laughs. The sound of it hits me somewhere behind the sternum. I could get addicted to that sound. That’s a problem. “Because it is a little,” she admits. “I don’t usually do this. With someone I just met.” She holds up a hand quickly. “I’m not saying I regret it. I don’t. I just—it’s not really how I operate.”

I nod because I believe her completely. Everything about her—the way she talked about the town she came from, the way she said foster home like it was just a fact and not a wound, her love of nineties country music—speaks to her being real. No artifice, no enhancements.

Which makes me wonder what it says about me that she did this one.

“You want me to take you back to town?”

She bites down on her lip and then pulls out her phone, typing out a message. She waits for a response, then nods. “My friend will drive back and grab me. You can just take me back to the bar.”

“I can drive you home so she doesn’t have to come back out in the weather,” I say. It feels like the right gesture, but I know there’s more than politeness behind my offer.

“Nah, she’s going to want a thorough debriefing, so I might as well get it over with.”

“Ouch.” I touch my chest, feigning a wound.

“Don’t you worry, Cowboy, I’ll be singing your praises.

We’re quiet most of the drive back. The county road rolls out ahead of us, flat and silver-grey in the headlights. I turn back onto the highway. The lights of town gather in the distance.

I pull into the parking lot at Ace’s, and her friend is already there waiting.

She unclips her seatbelt and turns to face me. I know, without doubt, I’ll be thinking about her for a long time. Knowing that doesn’t make it easier. “This was the best night I’ve had in—maybe ever,” she says. “Even though it wasn’t supposed to be anything.”

She kisses me one last time. Soft and final, tasting like goodbye, and I hate how much I hate it.

“Good luck out there, Mischief.” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

She gives me a small, wistful smile. Picks my hat up off the seat—I hadn’t even noticed she’d held onto it—and sets it gently back on my head. Adjusts the brim with two fingers.

“Take care of yourself, Cowboy.”

Then she’s out of the truck and walking away, a flash of ink and dark hair, and my hat’s still warm from her hands.