Chapter 4 Tommy
Worry creeps into my mind about how she might feel about me driving her to meetings and town events. She works too hard to do the right thing. The proper thing. I know, in my gut, that she’s not going to want this town to think that she’s bouncing from brother to brother.
But I know that, if she’ll let me, I’d like to be the one to pick her up for meetings, to take her out for drinks, to be the one to walk her to her door. If I fuck this up, she’ll just see me as Jax’s pathetic younger brother who has a crush on the new girl. I’ll miss whatever minuscule chance I might have with her. Maybe I just need to be direct, but not too direct.
She ducks her head as she pushes some of her blonde curls behind her ear. “Fair enough.”
Wait, what?
“Does that mean I get to pick you up for the monthly movie night subcommittee meeting, too?” I ask, trying to not push my luck.
Sam looks surprised. “You’re going to drop me off at a meeting you’re not going to?”
“Why wouldn’t I be going?”
“You’re not on that subcommittee,” she says, her brows furrowing.
“Maybe I just requested to join,” I say, flashing her a smile as I start the truck and turn the radio low.
“I didn’t get an email.”
“You aren’t the chair of that committee and the rules state that requests to join should be sent to the chair who will bring them to the subcommittee before the next meeting.”
Her mouth falls open. “You’re joining the movie night subcommittee?”
“Well, yeah, someone needs to help you bring movies into the mix that aren’t in black and white.”
That smile. There it is. My chest swells with pride knowing that I might have had something to do with it. And, let’s be honest, I joined so I could see her more.
“I could use a partner.” She blushes, like she said something wrong.
Before she can hide her face, I hold my hand out to shake hers and say, “Then you’ve got one.”
Her bracelets make a soft jingling sound when she places her hand in mine. It’s soft and fits perfectly. Her eyes take in our shake and then bounce to mine.
“Perfect.”
“I think we’ve chatted away most of our extra time if we don’t want to show up late,” I say, grimacing at the transition.
“Of course,” she says, looking at the building and pulling her hand away. “We wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting.”
“We would’ve had a good excuse,” I say, giving her one more wink before putting my sunglasses back on. I leave my hat in the back seat so I have one less thing to fiddle with as I drive.
“Chatting in your car is considered a good excuse?” she asks. “Now I’m curious what a poor excuse would be.”
God, why is it sexy whenever she pulls out phrases that senior citizens use?
“Whippin’ shitties?” I venture.
She coughs, laughs, and then asks, “Pardon me?”
There’s that phrase again. Fuck, I love that she says pardon of all words. “You know, whippin’ shitties, or donuts?”
“I definitely do not know what that is,” she says emphatically.
“I suppose city folk have other forms of entertainment. But sometimes, those of us in small towns and in the country, we pass the time by driving in empty parking lots and whippin’ shitties. You drive fast, slam on the brakes, and crank the wheel to spin you in a tight circle,” I explain. “We also go mudding.”
“You do this?” One of her brows is raised in skepticism.
“I did. It’s a good way to make your tires go bald fast and you might tip your truck, which is a bone-headed thing to attempt.”
“Dare I ask about mudding?”
The way her nose crinkles has my heart jumping in my chest, but I try to play it cool and chuckle. “It’s literally taking your truck, SUV, or ATV, but not a sedan like yours, and driving into a muddy field.”
“Driving in the mud, truly?” she asks, concern and confusion on her face.
“Well, you’re not going five miles an hour. You’re messing around and getting mud everywhere.”
“Everywhere?”
“Everywhere,” I say, not thinking about my truck. And before I second-guess myself, I embrace Chuck’s advice and say, “We’ll have to go sometime.”
“Mudding?” she asks, her voice a little breathless and her cheeks flushing with the barest hint of pink.
“Mudding. You game?”
“You’d like to take me to spray mud all over your truck?”
“All over everything,” I tell her, not overthinking everything.
She has an almost-inaudible gasp. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I try to keep a smirk off my face and am sure I’m failing as I turn at the intersection because I’m loving how she’s relaxing more. “So what do city-slickers do to pass the time?”
“Go to the movies or hang out in people’s basements.”
“And…” I say, gesturing with my hand for her to elaborate.
“And I don’t know, play truth or dare? That’s about all we did,” she says.
“What about the evenings at the country club, the cotillions, and the daily tea service?”
A real laugh escapes her. “We had no such things!”
“There weren’t country clubs?”
“I mean, sure, those exist, but we didn’t go there.”
It’s my turn to give her a skeptical look. “Then did you wear your formal gowns to the movies?”
“What formal gowns?” she says, still giggling.
“I was under the impression that everyone in the city is required to have several formal gowns for regular events, especially cotillions.” I manage to keep a straight face, earning a snort from her.
“Where do you think I grew up?” Her laugh is contagious and I have to fight to keep my mock-serious demeanor.
“I know where you grew up,” I reply. “Now, where did you wear these gowns?”
“I don’t know, prom?”
“That’s it?” My exasperation pulls another round of giggles from her.
“That’s it.”
I sigh dramatically, pulling up to the building.
“What?”
I put the truck into park and turn my head so I can see the flush on her face, the sparkle in her eyes, and the smile on her face. God, she’s gorgeous. “I’m so disappointed.”
I finally crack when she belly laughs at the expression on my face. Nodding at her water bottle, with the Landen Acres sticker that I never fail to notice, I ask, “What’s your fuel of choice tonight?”
She smiles. “Just water.”
“Brave woman.”
“What about you?”
“Water.”
“Brave man.”
“But,” I say, “I might have something else.”
I reach down behind her seat and show her two iced coffees, passing the lighter one to her.
“Oat milk,” I explain.
She has a look in her eye that I know I’ll strive to see again. The one that’s surprise mixed with a tiny bit of awe.
“Thank you,” she says shyly as she takes it from me, our hands touching and my entire body feeling the electricity.