Chapter Twenty-Four Bryden （Mountain） #2
A sound plays through the speaker system, and she immediately starts to bob her head to the rhythm. I cock a lopsided smile, and adjust in my seat, one hand on the wheel and the other resting along my chin.
The drive to the nearest shopping center isn’t a long one. We pull into the parking lot, just as a car shoots out in front of us. I slam on the brakes, my arm instinctively flying out to brace her.
Sam pushes up onto the seat, leaning forward to scream at the driver. “Why are you speeding through a parking lot, asshole?”
Okay, that’s another knowledge point unlocked. She has road rage.
I try to focus on the car that flew past us, but her body presses against my forearm, and my brain nearly short-circuits. My eyes fall to the space where we connect, my breath hitching for a beat. Electricity zips up my arm, settling somewhere in my gut.
“Some people shouldn’t be given driver’s licenses,” she huffs with a flick of her wrist. Sam settles back into her seat, effectively and disappointingly breaking that connection.
Putting both hands on the steering wheel, I check both ways before pressing my foot on the gas.
We pull up in front of the craft store, and I whip the car into park.
I kill the engine, run my palms over the front of my jeans, then reach for my wallet out of the cupholder.
While Sam looks for something in her bag, I hop out of the car, letting my door slam shut.
I round the back of the car until I’m standing on the passenger side. I reach for the handle and pull the door open for her. Sam’s eyes dart to mine, almost as if she’s shocked.
“Thanks.” She takes my hand, allowing me to help her out of the car.
“Mm-hmm,” I mutter and hit the lock button on the handle.
Sam walks ahead of me, and I follow closely behind her, fighting to keep my eyes above her waist. We reach the entrance, and I reach around her to open it.
“Thank you again.” She enters the store, the threshold sensor dinging.
“Mm-hmm,” I respond.
Sam glances around the store then turns to face me. “What we need are going to be in different parts of the store. I’ll take the first half and you take the last.”
I nod and she pulls out her phone to share her list with me. Of course, she organized the list by what aisle they’re in in the store.
And she calls me a stickler.
“All right. See you in a bit.” Sam waves awkwardly and is off without another word.
I watch her grab a basket, then walk to the farthest aisle, realizing that she’s going to work her way back to the front. That way she’s closer to the register once she’s finished shopping. I shake my head, grab a basket of my own, and walk to my side of the store.
Following her lead, I start at the last aisle. There’s a woman with a cart full of supplies. She smiles at me, and I tip my head in response, caving into myself to move past her. A second later, my phone buzzes and I glance down to a message from Sam.
Collins: Did you know that acrylic paint wasn’t a thing until the 40s, and because of how fast they dry, it became the go-to for modern artists?
I frown, now curious.
Bryden: No????
Collins: Neither did I until the guy next to me wouldn’t stop talking to me about it. Send help.
I smirk and inadvertently glance up at the woman in the aisle with me. My face twists, my nose scrunching in disgust.
Bryden: I’ll trade you. The lady in my aisle just dug out a massive booger and wiped it on her pants.
Collins:
Quickly, I speed-walk to the next row. After a few more minutes, we meet at the checkout line.
Sam is walking toward me, huddling close as she tries to hold back a laugh.
She tilts her head, signaling for me to come closer.
I lean into her, immediately wrapped into the scent of her perfume.
It smells sweet like vanilla, and, boy, is it intoxicating.
“That’s the guy.” She points behind her then steps around me to let out a laugh.
The guy makes brief eye contact with me, before turning his attention to one of the endcap items. I face forward and saunter up behind Sam as we wait for our turn. She stands just under my chin, and I don’t think I noticed how short she was before now.
The line moves, and she sways just a bit as her feet start to move. My front grazes her back and every muscle in my core clenches, but I suck in a breath to compose myself.
“Register four is open,” the clerk blurts out, raising her hand high for us to see.
Sam strolls to the counter with me hot on her heels. We set both baskets on the surface.
“Good evening,” Sam greets.
But the clerk barely acknowledges us. Doesn’t say hello, doesn’t look up. She just starts ringing up items with the aggressiveness of a person who hates their job. I notice the smile on Sam’s face falter, and she looks at me as if to mentally see if I saw that, too.
The woman lets out a deep breath and pretty much throws the items in the bag.
“Total’s sixty-nine fifty-seven.”
Annoyed by the woman’s actions, Sam peers at her while digging into her back pocket and holds out a twenty-dollar bill. “Sorry, this is all I have.”
“I’ve got it.” I wedge myself in front of the card reader and pull my card out of my wallet to pay.
“Thanks,” she says and returns her money to her pocket and grabs the bag from the lady.
Sam walks away before I can take the receipt, and I have to take long strides to catch up with her outside.
“That type of stuff really bothers me,” she says.
Tucking my wallet into my back pocket, I reach down to take the bags from her.
When we reach the car, I unlock the passenger side, waiting for Sam to climb inside.
“That doesn’t get under your skin?”
“Some stuff just isn’t worth the energy. She could have been having a bad day.” I hand her the bags then close her in. The moment I’m seated behind the wheel, Sam turns to me.
“How are you always just so… calm? It’s like nothing bothers you. Just Mr. Perfect, all the time.” Her eyes narrow on me. “Do you even curse? Like ever?”
“No.”
“You’re infuriatingly impossible.” She faces forward, a soft laugh escaping her.
“Cursing is just a crutch for people who can’t express themselves properly.”
“Okay. I’ll bite.” She crosses her arms and turns to me again. “What does that mean?”
I tip my head. “It’s a lack of self-control and is, oftentimes, not very effective.”
“Did you just call me emotionally immature?” she asks sarcastically.
I fight the urge to laugh. “I’m saying that I don’t need to curse anyone out to make my point.”
“Yeah. It still sounds like you’re clowning me.”
The chuckle wins. “I’m not. All I’m saying is, the lady might have been having a bad day, and we should give her a break.”
Sam stares at me for a moment, a playful gleam behind her eyes, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was something else there, too.
“Fine. You win. But if you’re going to be all kumbaya this whole project, I don’t think I’ll survive.”
“I believe in you,” I deadpan, meeting her gaze.
We stay like this for a beat, staring at each other without a word between us.
Suddenly the moment feels charged, like there’s so much we want to say but haven’t quite built the courage to.
I glance to her mouth, locking the shape to memory, and find myself wanting to know what she tastes like.
Then she smiles at me, and my heart skips a beat.
There’s something about this girl, something about the unfamiliar feelings I get whenever I’m in her presence.
And if I don’t reel this in, if I cross that line, I’m not sure either of us will be able to come back from that.
“We should go,” I say but don’t pull my eyes away from her mouth.
As if to purposely taunt me, Sam licks her lips. I groan at that, my hands fisting the steering wheel to keep me grounded.
“That’s probably for the best,” she says, pinning me with a look that’s so close to getting us both in trouble.
I start the engine, stealing one final glance before pulling off to our next destination.