Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
A horn sounds, and I tear away, glaring at the tow truck across the lot when the dude behind the wheel holds his hand out the window. “I tried to be patient, but let’s go,” he shouts.
My jaw clenches, and I take a step toward him before I realize it, and Davis grips my wrist.
My head snaps her way, and she grins.
“Down, boy.” She dangles the keys in front of me. “What do you say, Crewster?”
I wrap my hands around hers, bringing my lips flush with hers. “I have to say, I’m a little disappointed you’re wearing shorts under this thing.” I squeeze her waist. “I’d have loved to set you on my lap, where no one would know I was buried deep inside you.”
I yank the door open, and it doesn’t creak as it used to, bringing a grin to my lips. “Inside the truck, baby. We’ve got places to be.”
Davis smiles and climbs inside.
If there wasn’t a bald dude behind us, waiting to get out of the parking lot we’re blocking, I would do this slow, slide the key in and listen to the baby purr, glide my palms along the steering wheel and fist the stick good and tight. But there is a bald guy behind me, so the moment I turn the key, I kick the thing into gear and roll forward, out onto the main road.
I can’t help the laugh that leaves me as I hit the gas, the truck jerking a bit with the quick speed it gains.
“You like it,” she says softly.
“You know I do, it’s why you used it as bait.”
“I’d do it again if for no other reason than the bite that follows.”
My eyes snap her way, finding she’s fighting a laugh, the little tease.
“Baby, you like when I bite?”
Her eyes narrow playfully, and she throws my words right back at me. “You know I do.”
“You know I’m a man, right? And remember when I said men were dumb?”
She nods.
“Well, men need to hear all about the shit you like, even when we already know, and it’s exactly why we do it in the first place.”
At that, she does laugh. “Noted. I’ll compile a list.”
“Chronological order.”
Davis drops her head back with an airy giggle. “Anything for you, Crew Taylor.”
Grinning, I focus on the road, telling myself she means that literally, and is prepared to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.
Chapter Thirty
Davis
“Shut up.” I scoot to the edge of the seat, smiling at the long row of pop-up canopies and bike cops. My head yanks toward Crew, whose smirk is pointed out the front window. “Are we about to save some money?”
Chuckling, he reaches over, squeezing my knee. “We’re just checking shit out, seeing if your idea about cutting out the big chains will pan out.”
“That’s a start.”
He cuts a quick grin my way, pulling through the parking lot and choosing the very last spot in the farthest back corner.
“You did see, you know, the other hundred spots, right? Pretty sure I spotted one in the front row.”
“Oh, I saw, but you don’t park a carriage beside a saddled horse. Space, Sweets. This baby needs space.”
Fireflies. I’d swear my stomach was full of them.
I pictured him behind the wheel of this for so long, imagined his reaction to seeing the project that meant so much to him, when it was more a pain in the ass for my brother—even if he too loved it, his drive was to show it off. For Crew, it was different.
It was the first time he had direct, positive attention from a man, the first time anyone put real effort into teaching him something he didn’t know, first time he experienced patience and realized not all mistakes are unfixable and not all men used their hands negatively when those mistakes were made. Lessons could be learned without fear or fights.
I don’t think Crew was ever physically beaten by his dad; I know his mother was, but when it came to his kids, Crew’s father used words—a mental attack that never stopped, bound by impossible expectations. But his dad somehow thrived on their fear. He would break things, punch holes in the walls and throw glasses across the room. One time, I overheard him telling my parents his dad had flipped the dinner table… in the middle of their meal—a rarity that was ruined when Drew, only nine at the time, spilled his juice.
Both the boys slept over that night.
Crew might not understand, at the deepest level, why the mere thought of this truck is accompanied by thoughts of him, and that’s okay. I planned to try and find a way to gift it to him down the road, but maybe I don’t have to.
Maybe it can simply be ours.
His and mine.
Mine and his.
“You’ve got a faraway look in your eyes.”