Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
LOLA-MAE
Smoothing my palms down my thighs, I turn to the side and wonder if this is too much, or maybe it’s not enough? I don’t know. I’m not sure what to do. I’ve also never contemplated what to wear to a bonfire before.
It’s never mattered to me, because a bonfire hasn’t ever been somewhere I would think to pick up a guy. It’s always just been a place to hang out with friends and relax, never a hookup thing for me.
Except now.
Right now, all I want to do is look good for Harlan.
I’m wearing a pair of jeans that hug the hips low but are relaxed through the thighs. Almost a bit bootcut at the calves and ankles. I have a worn pair of old square-toe cowboy boots on. My favorite boots are so old that I try not to wear them often. They need new soles.
On top, I’m wearing a black shirt that is formfitting and stops at my natural waist. There is a Carhartt jacket with a hood on the bed that I’m going to wear for warmth.
My makeup is a little heavier than I would wear to work, meaning Harlan hasn’t seen it this way before.
And my dark hair, I smoothed down with my straightener so that it’s shiny.
Slipping my phone from my back pocket, I take a picture of my reflection in the mirror before texting it to Shandy. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, worrying the skin there for a moment as I wait for her response.
When my phone buzzes, there is a knock on the front door at the same time. I know it’s Harlan. Flicking my gaze down to my screen, I see the message, and it makes me laugh.
A single word.
SHANDY: Fuckable.
The knock on the front door grows louder, so I shove my phone in my back pocket, grab my jacket, and make my way toward the door, flicking the lights off on my way in an effort to save energy, the light bill, or maybe just waste a few more seconds.
I reach for the front doorknob then gently twist it, tugging the door open as my lips curve up into a smile. My eyes travel up the length of his body to find his own.
Standing in front of me is Harlan, but not just Harlan… it’s sexy-as-sin Harlan. He’s wearing the painted jeans that were made for him, a pearl snap button-down shirt, a straw cowboy hat, boots, and a smile. But the way he looks isn’t the only thing that causes my weak knees.
It’s the way he smells, too.
Amazing.
“You ready, darlin’?” he asks.
My knees are weak, so much so that they tremble. I am so ready, so beyond ready. Instead of sounding desperate and saying that, I keep smiling, dip my chin in a single nod, and move toward the doorway.
Harlan doesn’t make a move to shift out of my way. He stays where he is. His whole body is so firm and solid, like one of the big oak trees outside that the cows huddle beneath.
I’m not sure what to do, where to go, so I stay where I am. But I tip my head backward so I can look up into his eyes. Harlan’s hands gently grip my waist before he tugs me toward him.
I place my palms on his chest, my gaze focused on his. He lowers his head, and his lips touch mine. His tongue glides through my mouth, then he lifts his head, his mouth grinning.
“Are you ready?” he asks again.
I want to say yes. But at the same time, I also want to say no and run back inside, strip out of our clothes, and forget about the party altogether. Being together, both of us in the bed a few feet away.
Instead of telling him I’m ready for bed, I give him a smile, plastering it on my face before I speak.
“I’m ready,” I state.
“Liar,” he jibes.
HARLAN
Opening the pickup truck door, I clear my throat as I rock back on my heels as she moves toward me. She doesn’t climb inside immediately. Instead, I feel her palm press against my chest.
Lola-Mae tilts her head back, her eyes on mine. We stare at one another wordlessly for a long moment. Then I watch as she climbs inside, and I wonder what she thinks of my granddaddy’s old truck.
It’s a 1960 F360 farm truck, painted white and turquoise. I rode in this truck my whole life, and when he died, it took me the longest time just to be able to start it up again, let alone drive it.
But now I’m proud to have this old girl all to myself, and maybe one day, I’ll have my own son to give it to.
I should spend my extra time and money on making it pristine, but Granddaddy would just laugh in my face if I did something like that. He’d say I was a damn fool, then wave his hand around.
Closing the door behind her, I move around the front of the truck, then climb into the driver’s seat before I start the engine. I reach across the bench seat, lace my fingers with hers, and gently squeeze as I shift the truck into Drive and head out.
There is a bonfire waiting for us, and the chance at seeing Lola-Mae’s face lit with the glow of the fire.