Chapter 2
chapter
two
Cruz
Everything started at that goddamn Bluebonnet Festival, back in the spring. I’d been minding my own business, sitting with my buddies at the beer tent and she’d walked by. It was the long blonde hair that had caught my attention at first, but then her luscious curves had locked in my gaze.
I’d nodded towards her and asked my friend, Dane, “Who’s Princess Buttercup over there?”
He’d taken one look and had laughed.
When she’d finally turned around and I’d seen her face…
well, that’s when I knew I was so screwed.
Sure, she was gorgeous, but the moment I saw her face, I knew why Dane was laughing.
Stunning or not, she was clearly way too young for the likes of me.
Besides, there are too many beautiful women in the world for me to chase one who is too young to have a proper conversation with.
So I let it go, determined to forget about her.
Fate had other things in mind. And Saddle Creek is a small town.
Two days later, I’m minding my own business when I pull up to the garage I bring my van to.
I’ve been at that garage a lot over the last several months.
The guys and I over at Great Dane’s Dog Sanctuary needed a vehicle that could safely transport multiple dogs.
So I’ve been working with Jude to outfit my van with built-in dog crates.
Most of our dogs come to us via delivery from other rescue organizations and shelters.
But on occasion, I need to drive somewhere to pick some up.
Usually, a roundup of pups on a shelter’s euthanasia list or some dogs misplaced because of natural disasters.
In Texas, that normally means floods or hurricanes.
Since the last thing I want is to end up stranded by the side of the road with a van full of traumatized pups, I bring my van by to get the all clear before each trip. And that’s when things go from manageably bad to much worse.
I don’t see Jude in the office, so I walk around the garage bays. There’s music playing. Drift Away. And not the newer version by Uncle Kracker, but the original Dobie Gray version. There’s a car with the hood up—a ’65 Mustang Coupe. And there she is.
Buttercup.
And despite the nickname I gave her the first time I saw her, she doesn’t look like a princess.
She’s wearing steel-toed work boots and a mechanic’s coveralls, zipper open over a grime-streaked tank top.
Her corn-silk blond hair is in a braid that wraps around her head.
She’s holding a torque wrench in her hand, and she’s singing along with Dobie Gray as she sways with her eyes closed.
There’s a smear of motor oil on her cheek.
The fabric of her tank stretches tight as she raises one hand over her head to belt out the chorus.
And… I’m a goner.
Gone.
Lost.
Head over fucking heels.
This woman, whom I had every intention of never thinking about again, has become unforgettable.
Some nameless, gorgeous blonde chick at the festival I could have forgotten. Would have forgotten.
Saddle Creek is a tourist town, and people come in for those damn festivals all the time. By rights, I never should have seen Buttercup again.
But there she is, looking like a damn dream. A woman who works on cars, wears the proper foot protection, and belts out the lyrics of my favorite song?
You might as well stamp DOA on my forehead and ship my corpse home.
Yeah, that was like six months ago, and I swear things get worse every time I go.
Last time I saw her, she was wearing an Eagles concert t-shirt.
And not in the ironic way people wear thrift-store clothes.
I’ve heard her sing their songs, too. So I’m a big dude who likes muscle cars and classic rock.
I’m a cliché, whatever. It fits nicely with my pervy old-guy persona I’ve been developing.
Like I said, I’m completely fucked.
Which is why today, knowing I need to go to the garage and have the van checked out before going on a run, I asked Flynn to come with me. Does that make me a pussy? Maybe, but it’s always nice to have reinforcements.
We’re currently sitting in the van a block away from the garage.
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Flynn says.
“What are you even talking about?” I ask, but I’m pretty sure I know.
“Juliette Winslow,” he says.
“What about her?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at her. You have feelings.”
“What? Happily married, and that somehow makes you a love guru? I’m having some pretty strong feelings about you right now.”
Flynn chuckles.
“Well, it doesn't actually matter how I look at her, because the fact of it is, she's young enough to be my daughter.”
“Is that how you think about her, like she's your daughter?”
“Fuck no. Not at all how I think about her, but I know how it would look. People would think I was a creepy old man.”
“You’re older than me, but that doesn’t make you an old man,” Flynn bumps my elbow. “Plenty of couples have significant age gaps. It's not a big deal. Besides, it's not like she's a child; she's an actual adult.”
“Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure her brother would not see it that way, and he'd want to rearrange my face.”
“Definitely a possibility. And Jude looks like he could be pretty mean, but you could probably kill him sixteen different ways, using just your pinky nail and a cotton swab.”
I snort. “I don't think that's accurate.” I turn into the parking lot of the garage. “I don't want to kill him. He’s a good guy.”
“Yep, he did a good job raising his sisters. Now they’re all grown and they're going to fall in love with men and get married, and he's not going to be able to do anything about it, because, again, they're adults.”
“Well, I don't want all three of them. I just want the one.”
“Well, that's good considering that having multiple wives is still illegal in the state of Texas. I don’t know how guys do that. I’ll never want another woman the way I want my wife. Not only would Temple kill them, but she'd kick my ass, for sure.”
“Wanting is not the same thing as deserving or attaining,” I point out.
Flynn blows out a breath. “You’re frustrating as fuck, my friend. How about we go about it from this angle? I've seen the way she looks at you.”
“Oh, well, that is irrelevant. She isn't old enough to know what she wants.”
“I’m calling bullshit! You don't even believe that.”
“You’re right. I don’t. But still, none of this changes the fact that I’m way too damn old for her. She's too young and sweet, and she isn't old and cranky and jaded with a bad knee.”
“That you know of. She might have a bad knee from an old football injury.”
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“You should have Temple teach you some yoga moves. You could probably loosen up that knee of yours.”
“Yeah, I'll consider that. But in the meantime, I just need to get ready for this trip.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“No, no, you stay here with your wife. I've got it. It's not a big deal. It's not even that long of a drive, just about six hours each way. So it, it'll be good. I've got my tunes.”
“I still think you should ask her out. ”
“I hear your words, and I appreciate your opinions about my life, but I'm not going to ask her out. I'm fine. I don't need anybody.”
“Well, that is a crock of shit. Everybody needs somebody.”
“I don’t. Some people were made to be alone. I'm one of those guys.”
“Oh yeah, you're, what, the Lone Ranger?” Then he guffaws. “I didn't even mean to make that pun.”
“You’re a regular old comedian. Let’s just drop it about Buttercup. I’m not asking her out. Besides, I’m kind of bonding with this chick on that dating app Evan signed me up for.”
“The kid did that?”
“Yeah, about six months ago. I ignored it for months. But then decided to just see what it was about.”
“I hope your username isn’t The Lone Ranger.”
“Fucker.”