Chapter 10
Who Said Chivalry Was Dead?
We’ve been driving for nearly forty-five minutes, and wherever Walker is taking me clearly isn’t in Bluebell—which I can’t deny is a relief.
I love our charming town, but everyone constantly being in my business can be suffocating.
Knowing our first official date will be away from prying eyes and whispered speculation makes it even better.
My cheek presses into the headrest as I watch the scenery pass by from the window.
The sun dips low in the sky, bathing the rolling fields in deep gold, while cottonwoods dot the landscape with leaves that catch the warm evening light.
The soft strains of “Tennessee Whiskey” drift from the radio, filling the silence that’s settled between us since our roadside conversation.
I glance over at Walker, where he’s focused on the road ahead, his cowboy hat tipped low and his black T-shirt stretched tight across his broad frame.
Even dressed casually, he’s sexy as all get-out, and the attraction burning inside me isn’t staying dormant like it used to.
No—it’s blazing to life, flaring hotter than ever, refusing to be put out.
That fire explains the sparks that shoot through me whenever he takes my hand in his or the unexpected kiss on my forehead earlier.
It was just as electrifying as if he’d pinned me to the bench seat and taken me for the first time on the roadside.
The way he seems to know what I need before I do only intensifies my attraction, and his caring nature makes me want to open up to him.
I clear my throat before breaking the silence.
“Earlier, when I assumed we’d jump straight into…
sex,” I whisper the last word. “I might have acted impulsive and done something silly instead of asking you for help.” Though part of me wants to keep this to myself, I push past my nerves in the name of transparency.
Walker shoots me a glance. “Come on now. Don’t leave me hanging.”
“I had Earl take me to the drugstore before work this morning to pick up condoms. I wasn’t sure who was responsible for getting them and didn’t want to be caught unprepared.
I have an IUD, but you can never be too prepared,” I say softly, rubbing my palms against my thighs.
“The problem was there were too many choices, and I got overwhelmed. How was I supposed to know what size to get or whether ribbed ones make a difference?”
I keep my eyes on the floorboards, too nervous to see Walker’s reaction.
“Of course, I didn’t tell Earl the real reason I was there.
But I guess that didn’t matter—since I knocked over a shelf of condoms and he and Clark found me surrounded by them.
I don’t think my excuse of being in the wrong aisle was very convincing. ”
Oh fudge, I’m still rambling.
The truck veers slightly before Walker straightens it out, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.
I gasp, holding the edge of my seat. “Everything okay?”
He nods, wiping his brow. “You can’t go around talking about a man’s dick size and not expect him to get distracted.”
I shoot him a smirk. “No condom or cock-related commentary while you’re operating heavy machinery. Got it.”
Walker lets out a low groan and subtly shifts in his seat. “Birdie, I’m trying to be a gentleman tonight, but when I hear the word cock come from those pretty lips, it makes that damn near impossible.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from blurting something wildly inappropriate.
After a long beat of silence, Walker says, “I want you to know that I’d never put you in the position where you’d have to choose between protection and intimacy.
” He casts me another glance before focusing back on the road.
“I apologize for not being clear from the start. You asked me to teach you, and I haven’t been doing the best job. ”
“You’re wrong,” I say, undoing my seat belt and sliding into the middle seat, the urge to be closer to him impossible to ignore.
Walker’s gaze hardens, bordering on frantic. “Woman, fasten your buckle right now, or I’m pulling over again.”
I laugh softly. “All right, all right, don’t give yourself a heart attack.” I click myself into place, and Walker exhales in relief. “Satisfied?”
“Promise me you won’t ever risk your safety like that again,” he urges.
My lips twitch into a satisfied smile. It’s obvious his concern for me is genuine and that alone makes me feel seen in a way I haven’t in a long time.
I trace a cross over my chest with my finger. “Promise.”
He grunts in approval. “Good. Now explain why it was so important for you to sit next to me while I’m doing sixty on the highway.”
My hand drifts to his thigh, and he stiffens under my touch.
“I wanted to emphasize that I disagree with what you just said. In my opinion, you’re the best teacher.
You’ve been patient and kind and have already helped me in more ways than I can count.
And I’m very grateful.” I don’t miss the subtle shift in his breathing when my fingers brush a little higher along his thigh.
“Dammit, woman. It’s near impossible to concentrate with your hand on me.” He swallows hard, jaw tightening. “I think you might be trying to kill me.”
“Sorry,” I murmur, but when I go to pull my hand away, he gently catches my wrist, holding me in place.
I grin and can’t help but feel a surge of pride at the reaction I’ve elicited from him. Most guys are eager for any excuse to bail, not struggling to stay composed because a simple touch leaves them undone.
He keeps his hand on my wrist, rubbing circles along my skin.
I settle in the peaceful silence, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as we leave the main highway and turn onto a narrow, overgrown lane.
The sun sinks behind the distant hills, painting the sky in streaks of amber and violet.
About half a mile down, Walker makes a right turn by a familiar looking, faded ice cream cone sign.
“Are we going to the drive-in?” I exclaim, clutching his arm with my free hand.
There’s only one within a hundred miles of Bluebell, and it’s been ages since I last came here.
“We are. That okay with you?” he asks, a hint of hesitation in his voice.
“Are you kidding? This was one of my favorite spots growing up.”
“A rancher friend of mine owns the place. They normally only show movies Friday through Sunday, but he agreed to open on a weekday when I told him I wanted to take my girl on a proper date.”
Did Walker just call me his girl?
“This is the best first fake date ever,” I exclaim.
A frown flickers across his face but is quickly replaced with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m glad I’ve set the bar high so no other man will ever measure up.”
Gosh, when he talks like that, I almost believe this is real, and that he’s not just putting on a show.
Just then, we pull into the drive-in, joining a short line of cars.
When we reach the front, Walker eases up to the ticket booth and rolls down his window, handing the attendant some cash in exchange for a ticket stub.
At the far end of the lot is a massive screen flanked by rusted speakers.
Rows of cracked asphalt fan out from the screen, each space marked with faded white paint and dotted with small tufts of grass sprouting through the gaps.
A handful of antique light poles dot the perimeter, their amber bulbs flickering intermittently.
The place might be run-down, but it has a charm that feels timeless—like stepping into a memory frozen in time.
Walker backs into a spot near the back that’s angled toward the screen.
I crane my neck to look behind us. “Uh, how are we supposed to watch the movie if we’re facing the wrong way?”
“Let me show you,” he says before hopping out of the truck.
I open my door and swing my legs over the seat, about to climb down when Walker suddenly appears at my side.
“Lesson forty-eight: Always wait for me to open your door,” he scolds with his arms folded.
“Really? Even though I can manage perfectly fine on my own?” I counter, brow raised.
“Yes. Now get back in the truck.”
I tilt my head, lips quirking in amusement. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, woman. We’re doing this the right way,” he states, leaving no room for debate.
I decide to play along, curious to see what he does next.
Once I’m back inside, I settle into the seat, staring ahead and fighting the grin tugging at my lips.
Aside from Earl, no one has ever made a fuss over opening my door—not that opportunities like this have come up often.
It gives me hope that chivalry isn’t entirely dead, at least not if I find a man who notices the little things, like Walker does.
When he finally opens my door, I’m expecting him to offer me his hand, but instead, he leans in and brushes his nose against my earlobe. “Good girl.”
My breath hitches, and I nearly melt into the seat as goose bumps race down my spine. I’d let him open every door for me a hundred times over if it meant hearing it again.
“Thank you,” I manage, doing my best to hide how two simple syllables have me nearly ready to combust. “So… you going to show me how to do this drive-in movie thing the right way, or what?” I ask, grasping for a distraction.
Walker hesitates, grazing his cheek against mine and sending my stomach into a whirlwind of flips. I’m seconds from begging him to keep going, to see where this leads when he finally pulls away, snapping me out of it.
He helps me down and leads me around back, removing the tarp covering the truck bed before popping open the tailgate to reveal a queen-size mattress layered with fluffy blankets, a mishmash of pillows, and several soft throws. A small speaker sits in one corner, ready to play the movie audio.
“Uh, Walker, are you absolutely sure we’re just watching a movie tonight?” I ask, motioning toward the cozy fortress.