20. Val #2
My eyes swooped across the table at Gemma.
She didn’t look at me but sank lower in her chair.
I gently kicked her foot under the table, forcing her eyes to meet mine.
I raised my eyebrow and tipped my head toward the stage.
On a few of our rides into town, Gemma would roll down the windows and turn up the radio.
That girl had a set of pipes, and if I could sing like that, I would have jumped at the chance to sing for people.
She looked at me in disbelief and mouthed, “No.”
I mouthed back, “Go on.” But she only tightened her arms around her front, pulling her sweater higher up her collar, and looked away.
Between songs, a few residents of Tipp sang karaoke—a trio of college-age girls sang Reba McEntire’s “Fancy.” One old cowboy sang an offbeat rendition of Tim McGraw’s “Real Good Man” to his darling wife, who clapped and swooned in the front row.
Even Al the bartender shocked me when he got behind the mic to swing his hips and rock out a popular Ed Sheeran song.
When he leaped off the stage and walked back toward the bar, I caught his eye.
He tipped his head in recognition and winked .
Unbelievable.
In this town, nothing was as it seemed. It was quirky and odd and hilariously different from any place I had ever known. The enthusiasm was infectious, and I tapped my foot to the beat. Together we hooted and hollered for anyone brave enough to get up on stage and sing.
My carefree laughter felt foreign but electrifying.
Every week there were fewer and fewer faces I didn’t recognize.
I even started getting waves and making small talk with strangers on my trips into town.
It was an odd sense of belonging. In Tipp, no one knew your history, because no one asked.
Once you proved your mettle, you were woven into the fabric of the town, much like a patchwork quilt whose pieces didn’t match and shouldn’t have gone together but kept you warm all the same.
After a few more songs, our collective group agreed that it was time to call it a night.
We shook hands, gave hugs, and waved our goodbyes to the friendly faces at the bar.
The ten of us walked in twos, my arm looped through Gemma’s, back to the trucks.
When Evan’s rig wouldn’t start, I looked around, unsure of what to do.
Scotty offered the first suggestion. “We could shuttle back and forth. Between the two trucks we can squeeze in all but a few. Come back and get the rest?”
Evan nodded, but worry creased his forehead as he popped the hood of his truck to inspect it.
“Val and I can stay back with Evan,” Gemma suggested. Scotty turned to her and nodded.
Ray tapped an impatient foot. “Just call Uber.”
“We have Uber here?” I was amazed that this small town would have the service.
“No. Hubert. He’s always home and can swing by and gather y’all up. ”
The sheer absurdity of it forced a barking laugh to explode out of me. Gemma and I clutched each other and laughed like a couple of loons. It even got a small laugh from Evan, lightening his grim mood.
“Thanks, Ray. I’ll give him a call.” Evan pulled out his phone, and the three of us, plus an agent, Hank, waved goodbye. The remaining two trucks carried everyone back to the ranch while we sat on a bench and waited for Hubert.
A few short minutes later, Hubert pulled to a stop in front of us. His maroon minivan was rusted and squealed when he used the brakes. “Heard you had some trouble? Hop on in!”
Gemma stepped in front to take the middle seat, followed by Hank. Evan and I moved forward at nearly the same time.
“After you.” I hoped his deep voice would always send that tingle down my spine.
I risked a wink. “Such a gentleman.”
As I stepped into the van and moved toward the back, a firm but gentle hand held my hip and guided me up.
A tug pulled at my belly and warmth pooled.
Evan’s touch was fire against my skin. I tucked myself into the back corner of the van.
Evan’s sheer mass took up most of the room and was an easy excuse to touch him.
I stared straight ahead as Hubert made small talk, pointing out various things in town and making off-color jokes. He really was Tipp’s very own Uber. I kept my eyes from peeking over, steadying them out the small back window.
Evan’s large hand found mine. In the privacy of the back seat under the cover of darkness, he tucked my hand in his and placed it possessively in his lap.
I bit the inside of my lip to keep the smile from exploding across my face.
I wanted to sigh and lean my head against his strong shoulder.
Instead, I moved slowly so my fingers brushed against the bulge in his jeans.
Evan shifted subtly and tried to ease away.
Undeterred, I stroked the outline of his cock and felt it grow beneath my hand.
The interior was dark, and I chatted with the rest of the group as I continued my covert assault on Evan.
I could barely see his nostrils flare as his hips gently pushed upward, letting me feel the stiff length beneath my hand.
I stroked and teased. The thrill of getting caught had my heart fluttering. Gemma and Hubert were in a friendly debate about the merits of popular country music. I added my opinion here and there but continued to squeeze and tease Evan’s cock.
“Don’t you think, Evan?” I smirked in his direction.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sure.” He had no clue what I was talking about and I stifled a laugh. His jaw tensed and he swallowed hard.
When we pulled onto the dirt path that led to the lodge, I hopped out of the van on my side, waving a friendly goodbye to our transport.
I turned to our group, smiling brightly. “’Night, Gemma, Hank. Good night, Evan.”
Fire danced in Evan’s eyes, but I bounded through the door of the lodge and up to my room.