Colt
Future Wife: Stomachache? Really?
Future Wife: Jonas is going to be suspicious if you refuse to come over ever again.
Future Wife: Less hot than my post-birthday look? No promises.
Four days since Jonas’s runaway incident.
Four days since Whit and I made out on her couch in the dark.
I spent all of the next day plotting how to play it cool and avoid kissing her the second I walked through that door.
I had a plan. No suggestively slurring the word mama.
No yearning, pathetic glances. No secret hand holding.
Easy peasy.
Until we got close to the house, and I remembered she’d be wearing her work clothes—which made me fantasize about role-playing as her assistant. The tops of my thighs tingled, and my dick started hardening, so I feigned a stomachache and ditched Jonas at the end of the driveway.
But tonight?
Tonight I’m taking my future wife on her last first date.
There’s an undeniable spring in my step as I head downstairs at the bunkhouse, and it’s not only because Betty’s biting at my heels.
Most of the ranch hands are relaxing around the table or on the beat-up old couches, drinking beer and shooting the shit while the newest guy in the bunks is tasked with making a giant pot of spaghetti Bolognese.
“You look pretty spiffy for spaghetti night.” Rob looks me up and down as he peels the label from his beer bottle.
“No sketti for me tonight.” I slip into my cowboy boots and smooth a hand over the front of my shirt. “I’ve got plans in town. You guys mind giving Betty Spaghetti a bowl of her namesake food, though?”
The spaghetti-slinging ranch hand, Ryan, nods. “Extra sauce?”
“Nah, then it all gets in her fur and my bed looks like somebody was murdered in it.” I steal a glance in the small mirror near the front door to tidy up my mustache and straighten my cowboy hat. “Holy fuck, I’m handsome. Somebody cast me in a remake of Smokey and the Bandit already.”
“You gonna play the dog?” Rob quips.
Ryan changes the subject, stirring the simmering sauce on the stove. “Got a hot date tonight?”
Rob snorts. “Yeah, right. Only woman he spends time with is his mom.”
“I’m picking up my own version of Sally Field—except even hotter—and taking her out in my own version of a Trans Am, actually.”
Rob says, “Sure, and I’m about to get a call that I won a million dollars and don’t have to work with you fuckers anymore.”
“The government would send all that money to your ex-wife for alimony before you even saw a penny of it,” Ryan says, dodging the fork that Rob chucks at him.
That’s my sign to leave, and I slip out of the bunkhouse before anybody can question me further. Betty sees me off to my truck, then saunters back toward the house, shoving her chunky butt through the dog door.
By the time I’m pulling up in front of a house two doors down from Whit’s, I’m more bundled wreck of nerves than man.
My muscles are jittery in anticipation and, though the truck’s air conditioner is working fucking mint today—for the first time all summer—I’m sweating.
Through the shaking and nervous cheek-gnawing, I make sure I’m still looking as good as I did when I left the ranch, then I text Whit to let her know I’m parked a few houses down.
That was her one request, and as much as I hate the concept of not greeting her at the door with flowers, I’ll do anything she asks of me.
I didn’t have girls stealing across lawns to secretly date me as a teenager, but it still feels pretty fucking badass at twenty-nine.
Whit briskly walks away from the house without so much as a half-glance back, a smile lighting up her face, hair fluttering around her shoulders.
Her sandals slap against the pavement, almost skipping on her way to my truck.
She’s wearing a dress again tonight, though it’s different from the one she wore for her birthday—more sweet and summery, less maneater. My girl’s versatile.
Her dress is the color of lush hayfields right before cutting, and it matches her eyes. The hem swishes across her thighs when she climbs into the passenger seat.
“Hey, Mama.” I present a small bundle of yellow wildflowers. Pickings are getting slim, with summer coming to an end, but I managed to find a few on my drive to town.
She takes the simple bouquet, staring down at it with a smile that encompasses her entire face. “You know, there have been many days where I was ready to gouge my ears out if I had to hear ‘mom’ one more time. But hearing you call me ‘mama’? God, it’s so good.”
“Is that so, Mama?” I wink. “You look really pretty.”
“Thanks.” She sets the flowers on her lap and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Most of it is pinned back with a large brown clip, but a few silken pieces have rebelled. “Where’s Betty?”
“As much as I love her, she’s not welcome on dates. I left her back at the ranch bunkhouse. The guys are pretty good to her, especially on spaghetti night, so she won’t miss me too much.”
Whit adjusts her seatbelt, stealing a glance at her house as I turn the truck around.
“No babysitter issues tonight?”
Her nostrils flare, lips held in a thin, unyielding line. “Not yet. But the night is still very, very young. Although I didn’t tell Jonas I was going on a date—he thinks I’m going to a book club meeting.”
“Are you in a book club?”
She gently nods. “An online one, but we have a Zoom meeting to drink wine and talk about romance books once a month. It would be fun to start something similar locally.”
“I’ll start a book club with ya. Not the best at reading, but I can skim the words and look at the pictures.”
Laughter wracks her slender body, and her palm shoots up to cover her mouth, a blush settling over her cheeks. And she looks over at me with a smile so full of light I feel like a kid who won the biggest prize at the fair.
“If the type of books I read had pictures, it would be straight-up porn,” she says.
Oh. Damn. Okay.
There’s been plenty of clues between her mention of naughty books and all her enamel pins talking about cocks and book boyfriends and reading making her wet. But I didn’t think it was quite like that.
“Does that make you uncomfortable?” she asks.
“It makes me uncomfortable to think about how often I see Kate reading books that look like yours while we’re all around the kitchen table eating breakfast.” I swipe my hand across my mouth. “But I’m really damn curious about you reading them.”
“They’re a fun escape. It’s nice to get my mind off work or Jonas or my family. I just want to read about a hot guy washing his girl’s hair and cooking her favorite meal after giving her back-to-back orgasms.”
Those words flow directly from her mouth to my mental list entitled Things Whit Likes:
Coffee with two sugars
Enamel pins
Reading
A hot guy to wash her hair and cook her favorite meal (need to find out what this meal is!!)
Back-to-back orgasms
The other ranch hands complain so often about women needing to come with a manual, I really thought this shit would be harder than it is. But Whit’s handing me everything I need to know on a platter.
My eyebrows waggle in her direction. “Ooh. Well, now I’m even more interested in being part of your book club. Especially if the club is only me and you. Clothing optional—no, clothing forbidden, actually.”
She scoffs, but there’s fire in her eyes. “That’s not a very gentlemanly way to talk to me on our first date.”
“Hey, you’re the one who got me thinking about orgasms.”
“Please.” She tilts her head, calling me out with a single look. “You couldn’t bring yourself to say hi when you dropped Jonas off yesterday because all you’ve been thinking about since the weekend is orgasms.”
“And who is responsible for that?” I pull my hand from the steering wheel momentarily to point at her, while simultaneously squeezing our joined hands with the other. “Okay, change of topic. What else do you like to do?”
“At this point, reading is the only hobby I have time for because I can pull out my Kindle and sneak in a few pages whenever I have a free moment. Consider it a testament to how much I like you that I didn’t bring it with me tonight.”
“You told Jonas you were going to book club, and you didn’t bring a book?”
She tucks her tongue into her cheek. “As if he pays that much attention. He zoned out the second I said ‘book.’ Anyway, aside from hanging out with my ten-year-old, what do you like to do?”
I recoil. “That makes it sound like I’m a creep. Um, I hang out with Betty, go to rodeos, fish, spend time with my mom.”
“One day when Jonas is an adult, I hope ‘spend time with my mom’ is on the list of things he likes to do.” She squints at the setting sun, pulling down the visor and giving a shoulder shrug.
“I don’t have high hopes, given our current relationship and the relationship I have with my parents. But it would be cool.”
“You don’t have a good relationship with your parents?”
“I mean…they’ve never done anything wrong.
And when Jonas was a baby, I wouldn’t have survived without them—Alex has never been particularly helpful.
He wasn’t there when Jonas was born, and I wish I would’ve listened when Blair told me to leave him off the birth certificate.
But anyway…” An indifferent sigh slips from her lips.
My mind is reeling over the fact that her shitty ex wasn’t even there for the birth of his kid.
Hell, if I could go back in time, I’d fucking drag him there myself.
Whit continues, “My parents and I aren’t really close, you know?
They’ve always felt more like…familiar strangers. ”
“Familiar stranger is exactly how I would describe my dad.” I wring my hand around the steering wheel, and the truck lurches onto the gravel road leading into the drive-in theater.
“I don’t think you need to worry about having that kind of relationship with Jonas.
You care way too much to let it happen.”
And so do I, if I’m being honest. I’ve always told myself that Dad being on the road didn’t affect me much, but if I hadn’t experienced some of the shit Jonas has, I’m not sure I’d be this damn invested. This committed to getting everything right. Being there for him, and for her.
“Yeah…hopefully you’re right.” Whit looks over at me with shimmering eyes. She plasters a smile on her face. “Okay, enough about my pathetic life. God, I’m the worst date ever.”
“Honey, we’re past making small talk about our jobs or how many siblings we have. I already know all that about you. I’d rather jump into the thick of it—the quicksand, if you will.”
She stares at me with a raised eyebrow the entire time I’m scouring my phone for the electronic tickets to show the front-gate employee. When the truck pulls forward, heading toward our parking space, she says, “You don’t already know everything. What’s my job?”
My pickup kicks up dust in a line of glowing taillights, and we inch forward as I search for the assigned number.
The place is jam-packed with vehicles, and with my window rolled down, the scent of buttery popcorn and barbecue is overpowering.
Gravel crackles under the tires and we’re moving so slowly down the narrow alley, people walking toward the concession stand keep passing us.
I’m sure Whit thinks I’m struggling to determine an answer to her question, but I’m silent because I suck at multitasking. Once we’re safely parked in spot number thirty-two with the engine shut off, I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn to face her.
“I asked Jonas about your job once and he said you give people jobs. Not entirely sure what that means, but I know you work from home and wear a lot of fancy-looking shirts. Oh, and you can’t have pink hair.
” I sit a little taller, ready to impress her with my knowledge.
“You have one sister. You like sour keys—by the way, I brought a jumbo bag for tonight. I don’t know what your favorite food is yet.
Jonas said your favorite color is orange, but I think he’s wrong because you’re almost always wearing either black or green.
Black technically isn’t a color, and green has recently become my favorite, so I’m rooting for that to be it. ”
Her skin’s infused with color from a movie trailer playing on the screen, and even in the dim truck cab, she’s breathtaking.
“All right, those are pretty good answers.” She speaks out of the corner of her mouth, with the rest tied up in a smile.
She looks impressed. “I’m a recruiter, so I essentially do what Jonas said; I recruit people for positions in the healthcare industry.
Um…favorite food is pizza, hands down. It physically pains me to have to say no to Jonas when he’s asking for pizza almost every day.
But like…I have to remind myself that I’m his parent and need to make sure he’s eating a varied diet. ”
Things Whit Likes:
Coffee with two sugars
Enamel pins
Reading
A hot guy to wash her hair and cook her favorite meal (pizza)
Back-to-back orgasms
“And you’re right about my favorite color. If you say your favorite is green because that’s the color of my eyes—”
“Nope. It’s my favorite because it’s your favorite. Also, you look fucking incredible in green. But your eyes are two of the most stunning things I’ve ever seen, so that would be a valid reason all on its own. Green’s an easy choice.”
Her lips part, words Velcroed to the tip of her tongue, and even the slow drag over her teeth won’t get them out. Eventually she shuts her mouth before opening it again with a hoarse whisper, “So, uh, what about you? Beau’s your only sibling, right?”
“Yeah, but my cousins are basically like siblings, too. We all grew up together. Plus, there always seemed to be other neighborhood kids around, like Keely—Beau’s girlfriend—and her brother.”
“That sounds amazing. All you kids growing up together like that must’ve been great.” Her tone carries a hint of something I can’t put my finger on. Not quite sadness.
“It was feral as fuck.” I laugh. “That’s way too many kids. I think two or three is a better number. Still have friends to play with, but in a manageable way.”
Glancing to her right, Whit abruptly says, “Hey, the concession line doesn’t look too long. We should go grab some food before the movie starts.”
“Oh, um…yeah, good call. Let’s go.” I unenthusiastically let go of her hand so we can hop out into the dark parking lot, filled with the scent of popcorn and grilled hot dogs and truck exhaust fumes.