Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I was just finishing getting the charcoal going in the grill when he got back, hair kinda messy and cheeks kissed pink from the sun.
I watched as Sutt got the folding chairs out, setting them by the firepit. He was wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else, the muscles in his back contracting and twisting as he moved. “Want a beer?” He went to the cooler.
“Sure.”
He plucked two out, opened them both, and brought me one. He plopped down in his chair, took a couple of long swallows, throat working as he did. When he cocked a brow at me, I turned away.
“We got a busy schedule next week.” I sat in the other chair. It would be a while until the charcoal was ready.
“Yeah, I know,” Sutton said. “We have to start the sod on that new build. The yard is a fucking mess. It’s gonna take me forever to get all those weeds pulled and the ground graded.”
We talked shop for a while. We both loved our work, loved the sun on our faces and ending the day with sore muscles and a job well done.
“You think you’re gonna meet that Kendra girl?”
“Maybe. She’s real nice.”
“What if she wants you to move to Cloverhill?”
“I haven’t even met the woman yet, and you already got me moving away with her? You tryin’ to get rid of me?” Sutton teased, nudging my calf with his foot. “I don’t know if it would ever go there. I doubt it, but if it did, it’s only thirty minutes away. Or maybe she’d move to Ryland.”
“Can you imagine how Mama would lose her shit if you moved a woman in before I did?” I laughed, but he frowned. “What?”
“If I moved in with her, we’d get our own place, dumbass.”
“Shit. Not sure what I was thinkin’.” I rubbed a hand over my face, got up, and started a fire in the pit just to keep my hands busy. The feel of Sutton’s gaze on me made my skin feel like I was sizzling out in the sun, but I didn’t let myself look at him. Couldn’t say why really; it just felt like too much.
When I finished with that, I went over to the grill to check the coals, which were ready. As I put the chicken on, I joked, “So you just gonna let me do all the work, or what?”
“I was thinkin’ so, yeah.”
“Bastard.” I winked at him, feeling a little more grounded again, like my insides had deflated enough that I wouldn’t float away.
We talked while I cooked the chicken. When I pulled it off the grill, he scooped potato salad onto our plates. We had another beer and ate together at the picnic table. I laughed when I looked over and saw barbecue sauce on Sutton’s cheek. “You’re a fuckin’ mess.” I grabbed a napkin and wiped it off, his body going slightly tense in an unfamiliar way before he pulled away and tugged the paper towel from my hand.
“I can clean my own face.”
Yes, yes he could. That was…odd, right? Doing that for him?
When we were done, we cleaned up and packed everything to keep the bears and other critters away. The bugs were bad, so I lit a few citronella candles and sprayed myself with repellant before handing it over to Sutt.
His fingers brushed against mine when he took it, and my stomach did something weird, this sorta dip like I was on a roller coaster and suddenly fell in a quick swoop.
It was starting to get dark by now. Sutt turned on a couple of the lanterns for extra light, and I asked, “You wanna play with me?” When he gave me a mischievous grin, I added, “You know what I mean, pervert.”
“You said it, not me. And yep. I do.”
I climbed into the tent and tugged out the two cases. His uncle Brian played, and when Sutton showed interest, he got him a guitar. It wasn’t long after his family died that Brian started to teach Sutt how to play. I thought it kinda saved him in those early months. It was one of the few ways he and Brian really communicated, and it gave Sutton something to focus on, to be good at, something that helped him forget the heaviness his life had become.
It was Sutton who started teaching me. He caught on quick, was definitely better than me, but I wasn’t too bad. I liked seeing him in his element, liked watching him lose himself, and fuck, find himself at the same time.
That year, when my birthday rolled around, we met at the railroad tracks. He nodded toward our tree, and sitting below it was a Fender.
“What?” I knelt down and danced my fingers along the fretboard, plucking lightly on the strings.
“I been savin’ for it.”