Chapter 12
Rhett
Devon’s here.
-From Rhett’s Most Important Things notebook, August 20th
Bea’s car pulls away, leaving a low trail of dust in its wake that settles in the distance between me and my angry blonde companion.
I break the silence. “Good to see you, mama.”
She runs her navy eyes in an assessing path from my hat to my concrete-splattered boots and back up, before turning them on the airstream for the same perusal. She finally turns back to me, taking a step closer. “Ooh,” Devon draws the word into three long mock-impressed syllables. She looks up at me, her placating half smile pulling at her lips. “I get it now. Trailer daddy.”
I release a long, low whistle, letting my accent come out in full force in my response. “Kind of like that.” Shaking my head, I laugh to myself. “Trailer daddy.” Picking up her luggage, I head toward said trailer. I stop close enough to her that she has to tilt her head to meet my gaze. “Here I expected it would take at least the first week until you were calling me that. You gave it to me before your friends are even off my property.” My gate creaks in the distance, accentuating my point.
Her eyes narrow. Fuck, she’s hot when she’s angry. “You know you haven’t won.”
“Devon.” The sound of her breath catching when I lower my voice and speak her name directly into her ear makes me happier than she’ll ever know. “I will have you on your knees in that trailer before our first week is up.”
This time her gasp is one of pure indignation. This is going to be a blast. It’s torture missing the look on her face, but I make it to the door without turning back. “You coming? Or do you plan on sleeping under the stars?”
She huffs, crossing to the stairs and trying to push past me, but it’s a narrow space, so she only succeeds in pressing her body fully against mine as she inches her way into the trailer. “Would you like the tour?” I ask.
She looks to her left, then right. “Think I’ve got it.” Gathering up her luggage, she lays both suitcases and a pristine cream-colored leather bag across the bed.
“Can I get you anything?” I pull open the fridge door. “Water? Iced tea, I’ve got beer. Pickles?”
“You can’t expect me to survive for two weeks on beer and pickles,” she says, inspecting the contents of the first sand-colored suitcase.
I pour myself a glass of tea and lean on the bedroom’s collapsed accordion door in its frame. “There’s real food. Promise.”
She pulls one piece of clothing out at a time, refolding and sorting them into piles. She didn’t pack it herself. Her friends actually did surprise her with this. I didn’t fully believe Allie when she said she’d be able to get her out here, but she proved me wrong. Devon unzips the second suitcase and pulls out a pair of navy athletic shoes.
“If you’re interested, I’ve got an open closet for you,” I offer.
She blinks at me, making the cutest little frustrated huffing sound. “Yes, McCoy. I’m interested in a closet.” She’s irritated, but barely more than usual.
She follows me the three steps to the closet. The interior of my airstream was wrecked when I bought it, which was ideal since I wanted to rip it all out and start fresh. Originally, there was a dining table that folded out into an additional bed on this wall. Now it’s six feet of custom closet built-ins, which isn’t bad for a thirty-three-foot trailer.
Devon assesses the space, including the half I cleared out for her earlier today, before depositing her shoes and moving back to the piles on the bed without a word.
We stay like that for long minutes, the only sound disturbing the silence is that of the ice clinking in my glass when I take an occasional sip and the soft shuffle of her clothes as she pulls out and refolds each item. She glares at me as she paces back and forth to put things away before she carries more bottles and jars than I’d know what to do with over to the bathroom at the far end of the trailer.
This blonde grump is a bit of a mystery. She wouldn’t be here unless she wanted to be, and yet all signs point to her not wanting to be here. She’s not pleased to be sharing such a small place with me, and she’s livid about missing work. I’m shocked she hasn’t asked me about my project again. Although, maybe she’s more perceptive than I’m giving her credit for, and she realizes I’m not revealing it to her until I’m ready.
Her movements grow frantic when she gets to the leather bag, pulling out pens, a notebook, another notebook, her planner, a ruler, pencils, an eraser and scattering them across the bed at random. “I should have known they’d do this to me,” she breathes, venom thick in her quiet words.
“What’s that?” I ask.
She waves an elegant hand at the scattered supplies on the bed. “No computer.”
That laptop is almost as important to her as her planner.“They seem committed to making sure you rest.”
“It’s pretty hard to rest when my mind is racing with things I need to accomplish and no way to complete any of them.” She gathers up the items on the bed, carefully placing them back in her bag. When she holds up her phone, she practically snarls.
She’s gonna hate this.“Would you like me to show you the reception rock?”
Eyes closed; she takes a steadying breath. “Reception rock?”
Pushing off the door frame, I answer, “Yeah, it’s the rock that gets reception.”
“Yes, show me the rock.” The words are clipped, but she follows me outside and down the stairs.
I point into the almost dark of twilight, where a bump in the desert is barely visible through the patio’s lights. “Do you see that rock over there?”
“That rock?” She doesn’t even look. “It’s all rocks.”
Stepping in closer, so my chest is pressed against her slim shoulders, I pull my pointed hand into her eyeline. “It’s the big one with the sort-of ledge on it. About twenty yards, maybe thirty. Next to the gnarled Joshua Tree with all the branches on top. If you climb up on the rock, it’s actually a nice seat. Let me grab you a flashlight.”
“That part of my phone is working,” she says, walking off toward the reception rock.
Her voice carries over the distance occasionally, but I can’t make out words, just tone. Irritation, exasperation, a little condescension. I put together a fire and sit back to read my book. It’s fully dark by the time she returns, her phone’s flashlight shining aggressively through the night.
She doesn’t address me, just goes inside without a word. A few hours later when I come in, she has the lights off, presumably already in bed. “You asleep already?” I whisper. No response.
Making as little noise as possible, I brush my teeth, strip down to my boxers, and turn the air conditioner down a few extra degrees. I can just make out the shape of her in the dark, so I quietly step around to my side of the bed, the one closest to the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice cuts through the darkness.
“Getting in bed.” I pull back the covers.
The curtains are pulled back on both of the curved windows in the bedroom area, allowing a view of the stars that shine a dim light on Devon’s figure as she sits up and faces me. “Don’t you dare.”
Her threat makes me smile, but I’m careful not to touch her as I lie down under the blanket. The minty smell of her soap, or maybe shampoo, lingers on the pillow.
“What’s your game, McCoy?” I can’t see them, but I know her eyes narrow on me. “You couldn’t get me in bed on the first try, so now this?”
When I move to fold my arm behind my head, I brush against her bare leg. How bare is she? The shape of a baggy t-shirt is clear in the night, but is she wearing shorts? Panties? What does she sleep in? “If you’d taken me up on the tour, you’d know this is the only bed. I won’t touch you until you ask me to.”
I wish I could see her face, because I’m sure it’s hardened into something even more fierce and beautiful than usual.
“What do you mean this is the only bed?” She bypasses the part of my statement I wish she would’ve hooked onto. “It’s a trailer. Everything is supposed to fold out into places to sleep. That’s the way these things are designed.”
“Not sure if you noticed, but I’ve changed just about everything about the original design. I took all the other beds out because I, because—” I stutter on my response, not wanting to bring up Crystal, not with Devon in my bed. When I started tearing apart the trailer, we had just gotten engaged and I was hoping we’d take vacations together in it, so it only needed one bed. As irritated with me as Devon may be, she’s still patient. She doesn’t rush me as I come up with an answer. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”
“You can sleep on the floor. Or on the sofa.” Her words leave no room for argument.
She doesn’t get it. Everyone else in her life lets her be the boss, but I won’t. “The sofa’s too small. Not interested, but you’re welcome to it if you’d like to sleep curled up in a ball.”
She sighs, “A gentleman would give me the bed.”
“Another thing I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.” Rolling onto my side brings my chest close enough to her crossed legs to feel their warmth. “I never claimed to be a gentleman.”
“Aren’t you from Texas? Isn’t that basically the law there?” She’s grasping at straws.
“My mother would let me have it if she knew I wasn’t giving up the bed right now.” I laugh, imagining both of my older sisters would do the same. “But she isn’t here.”
My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and I can make out the faintest hint of a smile on her face. She must not realize I can see it. “The right thing to do is to give me the bed.”
I laugh again. This is even better than I imagined. “Devon, you’ve got to start listening better. Remember what I said about doing the right thing?” I’m tempted to reach out, rest a hand on her knee, but I remember my promise to keep my hands to myself. “You’re just afraid you’ll like sleeping next to me too much. Probably worried you won’t be able to keep your hands off me. Should we make a bet? Whoever caves and touches the other one first loses.”
There’s a long pause before she responds. “What will I win?” She’s almost too easy to bait. It’s hard to think of something I wouldn’t give her if she asked. Well, except the bed.
“What do you want?” I ask.
She scoffs, “I want you out of the bed.”
“Alright, if I touch you in this bed before you touch me, I’ll sleep outside the rest of the time you’re here. And if you touch me first, I get you for two extra days.” It’s a gamble, but the risk is worth the reward.
She leans forward, holding out her hand. “Should we shake on it?”
“You sneaky girl. That would be me touching you, wouldn’t it?” I roll over, close to the edge of the bed. “Get some rest. Lots of work to do tomorrow.”
It only takes four hours for her to lose the bet, waking me up by rolling onto my chest in her sleep. The mint isn’t her shampoo, because her hair smells like something else, floral but not sweet. I breathe it in, keeping my hands to myself. I could wake her up, let her know I’ve won. But I’d rather enjoy her here.
Her hip presses in against mine, and when she raises one of her glorious legs over me, she barely misses grazing my cock before settling it across my thigh. This is torture. Everywhere her leg touches me, the skin is bare. Is this t-shirt the only thing she’s sleeping in? My hands clench and unclench. She’s asleep. She has to be. After all that venom tonight, there’d be no way she’s willingly signing up for two extra days with me. Her chest presses more firmly against mine, and a soft moan escapes her lips. Or she’s fucking with me on purpose. Either way, I’m not falling asleep any time soon, and I am not moving.