Chapter 17
Seventeen
I’m a woman and I have ovaries. That’s why I ovary act.
—Text from Calliope to Jasper
CALLIOPE
I was officially done with this truck.
I eyed the embankment, contemplating letting it accidentally roll over the side of it and it “accidentally” get totaled, but that wasn’t something I wanted to deal with right now.
I wanted to be at home, in my warm bed, where I could eat all the cookies.
Speaking of cookies.
My phone rang, and I answered it with a smile on my face. “Hey, Mr. Winthrop!”
“Darling girl,” he said. “I have your cookies ready to go.”
I winced. “Shoot. I’m so sorry, but I’m going to be late. I had a friend who needed me, so I had to drive to Paris to help.” I looked at my stupid truck’s hood where it was sitting facing the road that would lead me home. “And my truck broke down.”
“I do hope that you mean Paris, Texas, and not Paris, France,” he teased.
“Oh, I definitely mean Paris, Texas.” I giggled, even though it was halfhearted at best. “I can be there in about two and a half hours, though. Is that okay?”
Maybe.
If I could ask a certain someone for a ride.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I have nothing else to do today. I’m on my own now.”
I instantly felt horrible. “That sucks. Do you want to come to a biker party?”
I was sure the guys wouldn’t care.
Plus, he was pretty awesome and each and every time I’d talked to him over the last few weeks, I’d learned that I liked the man he was.
“Oh.” He paused. “Well…” He hesitated. “Do you think that they would mind? I could bring extra cookies as a thank you.”
I snorted. “Those men will eat everything you have to offer. And, honestly, they’re the ‘more the merrier’ type. They like all the people.”
I got out of the truck on the side of the road—I hadn’t even made it a half a mile down from the hospital before it’d broken down—and threw the door closed. I didn’t bother locking it.
Maybe someone would steal it and do me a freakin’ favor.
“Where do I go?” he asked.
I gave him the address of the party and hoped that everyone would be okay with him being there.
If they weren’t, I’d beat them all up.
I started walking back to the hospital as Mr. Winthrop and I discussed what else he should bring. It took me a while to get him to agree to just bring the cookies with him to the party tonight.
We hung up with him sounding overly excited, and me being a little bit happier that I’d invited him.
That happiness dissolved as a cold blast of wind slammed into me.
I shivered, wishing that I’d remembered a coat, and marched on, angry with myself for falling for the salesman’s pitch on ‘this will be the greatest truck ever.’
Bull shit.
This was the worst truck ever, and it was causing me to have heartburn.
I shouldn’t have heartburn over a new damn truck with less than six thousand miles on it.
I guess I should be happy that it’d gotten me here today.
Hopefully, Jasper hadn’t left yet.
It took another ten minutes of walking and freezing my butt off before I realized luck was on my side.
But barely.
I hurried toward his truck and walked right up to his driver’s side door.
I watched as he caught the cramp in his leg and banged his head on the steering wheel a few times before he finally looked up.
Which he did when I knocked on the window.
He looked over and blinked.
He rolled the window down and said, “Where’d you come from?”
I pointed down the road and said, “My truck died.”
He shook his head. “Great. Get inside.”
I walked around the hood just as he started the old truck up.
Maybe that was where I went wrong.
I should’ve gotten an older truck.
Maybe one with less computer shit that could mess up. Then again, I had no clue if it was the electronics causing the issue. Maybe I should just throw the entire truck away and start over…
He pulled out of the parking lot and drove right past my truck.
Neither one of us said anything about it as he drove.
I’d call someone. But not today.
Maybe the day after tomorrow when there wasn’t a ton of shit going on.
“Where are you going?” I asked when he took a left instead of the right that would take him to the main road out of the small town.
“I’m fucking starving,” he admitted. “We’re going to whatever is open.”
I knew of at least four places that were open. Mostly because I’d planned on skipping out on the Truth Teller Christmas party early and hitting up several of the open places for a smorgasbord of food to be eaten in my bed late into the night.
Yet, now, I felt like that wasn’t going to be an option for me.
If I had to get a ride to the place, I’d have to get a ride back. And that meant that I couldn’t ask for one until someone was ready to go.
And I really only felt comfortable asking four people max. My sister. My brother-in-law. My younger brother. Or the man sitting beside me.
I pointed at a Whataburger and said, “They are.”
He pulled in and parked the truck.
“Any way you could go in and get us food? I’ll pay.”
I refrained from pointing out that he could’ve just as easily gone through the drive-through.
I unbuckled my seat belt and held out my hand. “Sure.”
He handed over a couple of twenties and said, “Order me whatever you’re having.”
I took him at his word and got him the triple cheeseburger, large fries, and biggest Dr. Pepper that they offered. I got the same for myself. Then I added a cinnamon melt thing that looked to die for.
One for both of us.
When I got out to the truck I had over ten pounds of food in my hands.
He eyed me with surprise when I took my seat and handed him the bag.
“Jesus,” he said. “What’s in here?”
I grinned as I reached for the burger at the bottom of my bag and said, “Lots of meat.”
He watched as I unwrapped my burger, unhinged my jaw, and took a bite.
“I’m not quite sure how you just managed that,” he said as he unwrapped his own burger.
He eyed it for a second before saying, “How’d you know what to order?”
“I’ve been eating your DoorDash for a week.
I know that you don’t like lettuce and onions.
Tomatoes are okay, which seems weird because I feel like those are grosser than onions.
Plus, on your sandwich last week that you ordered, you got extra mustard.
And, since I have a brain, I was able to use deductive reasoning to figure out what to put on your burger. You’re welcome.”
I took another bite of my burger, groaning. “Though,” I said through my chews, “I do believe that you massacre a burger by putting anything but meat and cheese on it.”
“Meat and cheese, eh?” he asked as he took a large bite—without, might I add, unhinging his jaw. “I sometimes do that, too.”
We ate in companionable silence, and only when I was done and snacking on my fries did he say, “I truly didn’t think you had it in you. You’re as skinny as a rail, and I always thought you just ate like a baby bird.”
“I only eat like that when I’m around large parties because I have social anxiety.
If I eat a lot, I’m tempted to throw it up,” I muttered, licking the salt off the fry before I dipped it into my spicy ketchup and popped it into my mouth.
“I feel like everyone judges the hell out of me when I’m at one. ”
He looked over at me. “At least you’re not burned and you don’t have strangers also looking at you.”
I shrugged. “Honestly, I’d almost rather something like that.
Then at least I’m not wondering what it is they’re staring at.
I have an overactive imagination, and I overthink everything.
You could be staring at me across the room, and all my mind is thinking is ‘she shouldn’t be here.
She doesn’t fit. She is uglier than her sister.
She should’ve skipped this one and done everyone a favor. ’”
“I think you think a lot more highly of yourself than you should,” Jasper drawled as he took another big bite of his burger before saying, “Honestly, I’d bet no one thinks about you at all.”
I wasn’t sure how to feel about his comment.
On one hand, it made me happy that I was overthinking things.
On the other, it made me feel like a loser.
Someone should think about me.
Surely, at least Searcy was, right?
“Thanks,” I muttered.
Silence stretched between us as we each finished our food.
He was barely done with his fries when I started on the cinnamon roll.
He watched me put the last of my food away, then said, “I can’t eat mine.”
I reached for his trash and mine, then threw everything away.
When I got back to the truck, he was rolling out his shoulders.
“Do you want me to drive?”
He shrugged. “Can you drive a stick shift?”
I snorted. “I was hot-wiring cars and pushing them down hills to pop the clutch before I was twelve. Of course I know how to drive one.”
He nodded before throwing his car door open and slowly climbing out of the truck.
He was almost to the passenger side when I asked, “Why’d you run this, anyway? I thought you hated running.”
“Cutter blackmailed me,” he grumbled.
I waited until he was all the way inside before I took my empty cup back into the store to fill it up with water and ice.
When I got back to his truck I handed it over and said, “Drink this.”
He took it and swallowed down a hefty amount before he said, “Thanks.”
I got in and started it up, then took way too long to adjust the seat and mirrors before I expertly backed up.
The only issue I had as I made it out onto the highway was a little stutter as I was pulling out.
“When’s the last time you drove a stick?” he asked.
I thought back to that answer before saying, “High school. I had a guy friend that I met at the coffee shop. He took me home a lot, and eventually I asked him to teach me how to drive. I wasn’t actually hot-wiring cars at twelve.”
“That’s a bummer,” he muttered as he leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “I was really over here thinking that you were a hellion.”
“Well…”
His lips twitched, and I had to force myself to look back at the road.
“I’m going to take a nap, okay, Calamity Jane?”
Calamity Jane.
What the fuck ever.
I drove home on autopilot, not using the GPS thanks to my photographic memory from my earlier rush to get here. I was halfway home when he started snoring lightly.
We were all the way home when he finally woke up as I pulled into my driveway.
“You parked in the wrong driveway,” he grumbled.
“Did I?” I asked innocently.
He sighed and got out, his muscles stiff and his limping much more pronounced.
“You need to go take some ibuprofen.”
“I don’t have any,” he grumbled as he started to make his way up my front walk.
“Where are you going?” I asked worriedly.
“Your house is closer, and I don’t think I have it in me to get over there.”
I thought about arguing, but instead just let him into my place.
I didn’t laugh as he limped up the stairs, but it was a close thing.
“Come on, Sir Limps A Lot. You can crash on my…”
I opened the door, and was about to say floor, when he walked past my living room and straight into my…
“Where are you going?” I called out loudly.
“Your bed,” he grumbled. “Those pillows you’re using as a pseudo-couch are too small.”
I followed him, arguing with him the entire way.
I stopped arguing when he started to shrug out of his clothes.
First his sweatshirt.
Then his t-shirt.
Followed shortly by his sweatpants.
When he was in nothing but his boxers, he collapsed face first into the bed.
“Wake me when it’s time to leave.”
Then he was snoring.
I watched as he burrowed deep into my bedsheets, wondering what I was supposed to do now, when I realized that neither one of us was going to go anywhere any time soon.
He was too tired.
And my brain hurt.
Maybe I’d join him in that nap…