Chapter 11 #2
She blinks. Is that disappointment I see in her face? “Yeah. Totally. Play another song? Pretty please?”
I hesitate. “You sure I shouldn’t be gettin’ you home? It’s late—”
“You do know I live by myself and that I’m also twenty-four years old, right? My parents aren’t, like, waiting up for me or anything.”
Yeah, but how would they feel knowing you were out here alone with me while I was fantasizing about putting a baby in you?
Pretty sure Old Man Wallace would put a bullet in me if he knew that. Wouldn’t blame him. Now if my intentions were good, that would be a different story.
I’m not sure they are, though.
Case in point: Before I know what I’m doing, I’m picking out a new song on the strings. Billie lets out a delighted trill of laughter.
“Yes!” She jumps to her feet. “Look, I love this song so much I’m gonna dance after only two shots of tequila.”
“Yeah!” by Usher was always a hit with the girls whenever I played it, even on an acoustic guitar. Guess some things never change.
I chuckle. “What a rebel.”
“Don’t stop.” She throws her arms over her head and starts to sway her hips. “I really will murder you if you do.”
“Noted.”
To be fair, it’s almost impossible not to dance to this song.
But Billie—she’s a notoriously terrible dancer, and now that she’s got her bum arm, she’s even worse.
She shakes her ass but not to the beat. Her left leg goes one way and the right goes the other, making her look like a stork who’s had too much to drink.
The best part? She knows she’s terrible and she doubles down, dropping into a half squat to twerk. Only she loses her balance and falls over, thankfully on her right side this time, and then we’re both laughing so hard we’re crying.
Seriously, my sides ache from how hard and how long I laugh.
“Stop,” I gasp. “I can’t—air—I need to breathe—”
“Fuck you,” she manages. “I’m the one who fell.”
Setting aside my guitar, I get to my feet and grab her good hand. “No more of that, okay? You’ve given me enough scares to last a lifetime.”
She lets me help her up. Because I’m a masochist, I pull her a little too close. The way she pulled me close earlier. I keep her hand in mine a little too long.
It just feels so fucking good to touch her. Be touched by her. The way she smells like fresh peaches, and how she only has eyes for me.
I can do no wrong in this moment, and that’s liberating in a way I can’t quite describe.
Now our joined hands are on my hip—who did that?—and her fingers tentatively explore the hem of my shirt. “Do I really do that? Scare people for no reason?”
I search her face while trying to clamp down a renewed wave of screaming need. “You’re thinking about your parents, aren’t you? And what they’d do if you quit tryin’ to please them and did what made you happy instead.”
She scoffs, looking away. “Not to put too fine a point on it.” After a beat, her eyes flick back to mine. “But what would I do? I think they’d be proud of me no matter what, I just…”
“Don’t want to disappoint anyone.”
Her fingers tighten around my hipbone. “I’ve always been that kid in our family. The one always running her mouth and causing trouble.”
“As the kid who never caused trouble, I’m telling you, trouble ain’t always a bad thing.”
Her eyes toggle between mine. “You think so?”
“Your family’s gonna be just fine if you quit doing that bookkeeping shit, Billie.
Will they be disappointed at first? Probably.
But they’ll find someone else. You know who’s not gonna be fine if you stay?
” I tap the knuckle of my first finger against the spot where her collarbones meet.
“You. And that’s who matters most. So make trouble, Billie.
Hell, I’m trying to make more of it myself. ”
Grinning, she rolls her eyes. “Such a troublemaker, helping out your brother with his preschooler’s field trip to the ranch. You’re really good with kids.”
“So are you.” I tilt my head. “Maybe that’s an angle to think about. You were definitely lit up hanging with those cuties.”
Her eyelashes flutter. “Maybe. I hadn’t considered that. I’d have to go back to school to teach—”
“No, no. I don’t mean teach like in a classroom. Maybe you figure out a way to work with kids and horses and stuff. You gotta be outside, working with people. And animals.”
What about the animal therapy? I loved it as a kid, and I vaguely remember my instructors being pretty gung ho about the whole thing.
I make a mental note to come back to the idea. Maybe I’ll bring it up to Billie later, after I’ve had some time to flesh out the thought.
“You sound like you know me.”
“Darlin’, I do know you. And I know you’re never gonna be satisfied sitting at a desk for the rest of your life.”
She wrinkles her brow, nostrils flaring as her eyes flick to my mouth. “Remind me again why you care?”
’Cause you’re something special, and it’d be a fucking tragedy to see you wither away trying to keep everyone happy.
“These days, caring about anything feels like giving this fucked up world the finger. And I’m learning from you the power of a little rebellion.”
Her face splits into a smile so pretty it takes my breath away.
Literally. I can’t breathe. I can only stare, wanting to lean in and kiss her so bad my chest hurts.
“Are you saying I’m a punk?” she asks.
“And a brat. Yes. But I’ll take that any day over—”
“Someone who’s full of shit.”
“Yes.”
Her throat works on a swallow. “Ry?”
“Yeah?”
Ask me to kiss you. Please. Anywhere you want.
“Are we… Is this how friends talk?” Billie’s voice wobbles. “Because I don’t really have friends, I only have brothers. And this feels different. Not—not in a bad way, but I… If I’m being honest…being more than friends…I’d be okay with that.”
Her words send an arrow through my heart. She’s feeling this tension, this desire, same as me. I wanna give her a high five for having the balls to acknowledge it.
But that means I gotta decide, right now, what my next move’s gonna be. No more of this wishy-washy, I-wanna-eat-her-out-but-I-can’t crap. Either I jump in with both feet, or I don’t jump at all.
Could I be good to Billie? Treat her the way she deserves to be treated? I’ve hooked up casually in the past, but I was never anyone’s boyfriend. I don’t know how dating is done or if I’m even capable of things like monogamy and truthfulness.
Because Billie is telling the truth, and I owe it to her to do the same.
Truth is…
I don’t know. And there’s too much at stake to fuck around without having a solid game plan in place.
A shadow descends inside me, cloaking my good mood in a blanket of doubt.
My voice sounds like gravel when I say, “You have friends, Billie. I’m one of ’em.”
Her gaze flickers. Aw shit, I hurt her feelings. That was not the answer she wanted to hear.
I get it, darlin’. I want you. But this is a loaded gun we’re playing with here, and I’m scared someone is gonna get hurt.
“I know what you’re asking.” I carefully tuck her hair behind her ear, resisting the urge to trace the outline of her lips with my thumb. “And no, friends don’t usually talk like this. But you and me—this friendship is important. It’s special. We can’t risk that, yeah, by letting things get messy?”
She nods, blinking before looking away. “Yeah.”
It’s all I can do not to grimace. “Please don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Retreat. Pull away.” I’m sorry I pulled away over all those years. I’m sorry I’m doing it again now. “Tonight—it’s meant a lot to me, and I—”
“You can’t. My brother, our families…” She offers me a tight smile. “I understand.”
“It’s always the right call, you know. To put yourself out there.”
“Why aren’t you doing it, then?”
The question haunts me all the way home, Billie and me riding in her car in tense, heavy silence.