Chapter 23 Jessica
JESSICA
The truck is a jacuzzi without the water.
Windows fogged solid, air thick and heavy with our combined breathing.
I don't know how long I've been sprawled across Carlos's chest, feeling his heart gradually slow from frantic to almost normal.
My lips are swollen. I'm breathless and overheated and thirsty, not for water but for more of him, already thinking about doing it again.
I just went down on Carlos Negrorio in the back of his truck at the overlook.
The same overlook where we used to sneak off to during high school. The same overlook where half of Largo Waters lost their virginity. The same overlook that is apparently still a popular make out spot based on the headlights I can see approaching through the fogged back window.
Oh god.
"Carlos." I push myself up onto my elbows, which puts my face approximately three inches from his. "There's a car coming."
"Mmm." His eyes are still closed, one arm thrown over his face, the picture of post-orgasm bliss. "So?"
"So we're half naked in the back of your truck."
"Three quarters naked." He cracks one eye open and grins. "You're the one who's half naked. I'm just missing my shirt."
"Carlos." I smack his chest. "I'm serious. Someone's going to see us."
"Then they'll get a good show."
The headlights get closer. Bright enough now that I can make out the shape of a sedan pulling into the clearing about twenty feet away from us.
I scramble for my clothes. My shirt is somewhere near Carlos's feet. My bra has vanished into the blanket dimension. The hoodie I was wearing is bunched under my hip, and I yank it on without bothering to find anything to wear underneath.
"Jess." Carlos sits up, completely unhurried, and reaches for his own shirt. "Relax. The windows are fogged. They can't see anything."
"They can see shapes. They can see movement. They can probably guess what we were doing based on the fact that your truck is rocking like a boat in a storm."
"The truck is not rocking."
I shift my weight to prove a point, and the whole vehicle sways.
"Okay," he concedes. "Maybe a little rocking."
The sedan's engine cuts off. A door opens. Voices drift through the night air, muffled but distinct.
I freeze.
"Is that..." I peer through the fog on the window, trying to make out faces in the dark.
"Deputy Miller and his girlfriend." Carlos sounds amused. "Looks like we're not the only ones with the make out idea tonight."
"Oh my god." I drop down flat against his chest, like somehow making myself smaller will prevent them from noticing the very obvious truck parked fifteen feet away. "This is so embarrassing."
"Why?" His hand finds my hair, fingers combing through the tangled mess. "We're consenting adults. They're consenting adults. Everyone's just having a good time."
"Because Deputy Miller works with Nacho. Because his girlfriend is Sharon's niece. Because by tomorrow morning the entire town is going to know that Carlos Negrorio and the runaway bride were fogging up windows at the overlook like a couple of teenagers."
"Good." He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Let them know. Let the whole town know. I'm not hiding this, Jess. I'm not hiding you."
My heart does something complicated in my chest. Flip, twist, squeeze, expand.
"You're not embarrassed?"
"Why would I be embarrassed?" He brushes his thumb across my lower lip. "I've got the most gorgeous woman in Largo Waters half naked in my truck. I'm the luckiest bastard alive."
"Carlos."
"I'm serious." He sits us both up, settling me in his lap facing him.
The position puts us eye to eye, and his expression is so open, so honest, it makes my throat tight.
"I spent six years pretending I didn't want you.
Six years watching you with him. Six years hating myself for feeling things I thought I wasn't allowed to feel. "
"And now?"
"Now I'm done pretending." He cups my face with both hands. "Now I want everyone to know. Want them to see us together and know that you chose this. Chose me. Chose all of us."
The words settle into my bones like warm honey.
Chose this. Chose me.
When was the last time I chose something just because I wanted it? Not because it was sensible or appropriate or what people expected. Not because it would make my mother happy or look good on paper or fit into some predetermined life plan.
When was the last time I chose joy?
"I'm still embarrassed," I admit. "But I'm also kind of glad they're here."
"Yeah?" He grins. "Why's that?"
"Because it makes it real." I gesture vaguely at the fogged windows, at the sedan parked nearby, at the world beyond this truck cab. "Not just something happening in private that we can pretend didn't happen later. It's real. People will know. There's no taking it back."
"Do you want to take it back?"
"No." The word comes out firm. Sure. "I really, really don't."
He kisses me then. Slow and sweet and thorough, like we have all the time in the world. Like we're not half dressed in a truck with Deputy Miller probably wondering whose vehicle is steaming up the overlook on a Tuesday night.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathless and dizzy and completely certain that this is the best decision I've made in years.
"We should go home," I say.
"Yeah." He doesn't move. Neither do I.
"Everyone's probably wondering where we are."
"Probably."
"Sergio might send out a search party."
"Definitely."
I kiss him again because I can. Because he's here and warm and mine, at least for tonight. Maybe for longer if I'm brave enough to reach for it.
"Okay." I pull back and reach for my jeans, which are somehow tangled with the blankets. "For real this time. We're going home."
"If we must." He helps me find my clothes, his hands lingering on bare skin just long enough to make me shiver.
We climb back into the front seats like civilized people. I catch a glimpse of myself in the visor mirror and wince. My hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket. My lips are swollen. There's a red mark on my neck that I definitely don't remember getting.
I look thoroughly debauched.
"You look gorgeous," Carlos says, starting the engine.
"I look like I just had sex in a truck."
"You look happy." He reaches over and laces his fingers through mine. "That's what gorgeous is."
The drive back to town is quiet. Not awkward quiet. Comfortable quiet. The kind of quiet that exists between two people who don't need to fill every silence with words.
I watch the trees blur past outside the window and let myself feel everything. The residual warmth between my legs. The slight soreness in my jaw. The flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with my approaching heat and everything to do with the man holding my hand.
I let myself think about Callum for the first time in hours.
And I feel... nothing.
No guilt. No regret. No second thoughts about leaving him at the altar.
Just relief.
Relief that I got out. Relief that I didn't spend the rest of my life trying to be someone I'm not. Relief that I ran toward something instead of just away from something.
"You okay?" Carlos glances over at me. "You got quiet."
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"How I don't feel bad." I squeeze his hand. "About any of this. I thought I would. Thought I'd feel guilty or conflicted or like I was moving too fast. But I don't. I just feel... right."
His smile could light up the entire valley. "Good. Because I'm planning to make you feel right a lot more often."
"Promises, promises."
"Oh, I deliver." He brings my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. "Just you wait."
We pull into the driveway, and my stomach does a nervous flip.
The house is lit up like Christmas. Every window glowing. I can see movement in the kitchen, shadows passing back and forth.
"They're all home," I say unnecessarily.
"Looks like it."
"What do we tell them?"
Carlos cuts the engine and turns to face me. "The truth. That we went for a drive. That we talked. That I'm completely gone for you and you're willing to give this crazy thing a shot."
"You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple." He leans over and kisses me, quick and firm. "Everything else is just details."
We climb out of the truck, and I'm immediately hit with cold air and the smell of something cooking. Garlic and tomatoes and bread. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven't eaten since lunch.
Carlos takes my hand as we walk up the porch steps, and I let him. Let everyone see. Let them know.
The front door swings open before we reach it.
Nacho stands there in his sheriff's uniform, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Well," he says slowly, eyes tracking from our joined hands to my disaster hair to the mark on my neck. "Someone had fun."
My face goes nuclear. I can feel the heat spreading from my cheeks down my neck to my chest.
"Nacho," Carlos says casually, like we didn't just get caught looking like we rolled around in the back of a truck. Which we did. "Dinner ready?"
"Almost." Nacho's lips twitch. "You might want to fix your shirt, hermano. It's inside out."
Carlos looks down. His shirt is, in fact, inside out.
"Huh." He shrugs. "So it is."
I want to die. Just sink into the porch and cease to exist.
"Come on." Nacho steps aside to let us in, but not before shooting me a look that's equal parts amused and knowing. "Sergio made lasagna. And he's been asking where you two disappeared to for the last hour."
"We went for a drive," I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near panicked. "Just needed some air."
"Uh huh." Nacho's grin is wicked. "Air. Right. That's what we're calling it now."
Carlos laughs and pulls me inside, past Nacho's knowing smirk, into the warmth of the house.
The kitchen is chaos.
Sergio stands at the stove, stirring something in a large pot. Pedro sits at the table with papers spread out in front of him, probably work stuff. Both of them look up when we enter.