Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“That’s Krisney’s car?”
I nodded. “How’d you know?”
“Car screams Krisney.” He walked toward it and gestured for me to open the hood. “Pop it and let me take a look.”
I did, bending into the car and searching for the hood release.
After finding it I stood up and turned, only to find him staring at my ass.
“Why you driving Krisney’s car and not yours?”
I grimaced. “Seemed easier to sell that car. I was having a lot of problems with it anyway.”
Lies.
I was having trouble paying the note. It seemed way easier to just let it go back. But he didn’t need to know all of the details.
“I can’t find any fault in your shorts,” he said.
Then he opened the hood, blocking me from his view.
I looked up at the lightening sky and counted to ten.
Men were bad news. Bad, bad, bad.
They were trouble, too, and I’ve had enough trouble to carry me straight into my forties.
“How about my car?” I asked, moving around the hood to be closer to him.
“This car practically has a permanent stall at Hail,” he said. “I think Krisney spent more time driving a rental than this car. She should’ve told you that before she gave it to you.”
She did.
“She did,” I repeated my thoughts. “She said, and I quote, ‘I have a car that’s a piece of shit and likes to break down at the drop of a hat. It’s sitting in my driveway at home because it has sentimental value instead of in a junkyard where it belongs. Feel free to use it. If it breaks down, have it towed to Hail.’”
He snorted.
“Reed helped her buy the car.”
I looked at him blankly.
“Reed’s my brother.”
“Oh,” I said. “Cool.”
He grinned. “You haven’t heard that story?”
“What story?”
“The tale of Reed and Krisney.”
I looked at him blankly.
“Give it time,” he said. “You will. They’re like the town love story that wasn’t supposed to fail but did.”
I winced.
“Yeah, Krisney does have that brokenhearted vibe about her,” I amended, thinking about how heartbroken she’d looked when she saw me get into the car and drive off. “She let me borrow the car, but made sure to tell me that if I dented it, then I’d be paying for it to be fixed.”
With what money, I didn’t know, but I knew that I would break my back if I had to, just so I wouldn’t see that horror-stricken look in her eyes when she thought about her baby being hurt.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” he muttered, closing the hood. “I have to take that car in right there, and then I’ll come back for this one. You want a ride somewhere?”
I thought about that and then shook my head. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded. “I’m working at the Taco Shop, and I can get someone to give me a ride home.”
“What about your shorts?”
I looked down at said shorts and shrugged. “There’s a safety pin at the shop. I’ll use it for now.”
He grunted. “Just promise me something.”
He reached for my hand where I still had the button of my shorts enfolded in it and spread my fingers.
“What?” I asked a tad bit more breathlessly than I probably should have.
It wouldn’t do for him to know that he affected me in any way.
“Promise me that you’ll get those shorts repaired. If you can’t afford it, I’ll gladly put up the money for you to get them fixed.”
I snorted, but it took only moments for his serious face to penetrate through my apparent hilarity.
“You’re serious.”
He nodded once.
“I…”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Surely, he was joking.
Right?
Wrong.
With one last glance at my legs, he walked back to the car he’d backed up to, loaded it up onto the rig, and took off within five minutes.
He looked at me and my jean shorts no less than five times.
Holy shit.
Chapter 6
Here’s to nipples. Without them, titties would be pointless.
-T-shirt
Baylor
The next day, I walked into Travis’ place and pounded on the door.
“Yo,” my brother said as he opened it almost immediately.
He looked like he’d just woken up, and I found pleasure in knowing that I’d been the one to pull him from his bed like he’d done to me so many times over the last few weeks when there was a call out in the middle of the night.
“What are you doing?” I asked, limping inside.
He frowned when he looked at me. “Your knee hurting you?”
I shook my head. “No, my ball.”
“Why?” he asked as he shut the door behind me.
Not ‘you’re joking’ or ‘you’re funny’ but ‘why?’ Because he knew that I didn’t bullshit around.
“I was checking on this girl whose car wouldn’t start, and when she stood up out of her car, the button on her jean shorts popped off and shot me straight in the ball. My favorite left one.”
“You have a favorite ball?”
That was Hannah, my sister-in-law, who’d asked that.