Page 11 of Wright Kind of Trouble

She ducked her head and then met my gaze again. “Don’t know what compelled me.”

“I know that feeling,” I admitted.

She swallowed, and something passed between us—a zing of connection that I’d felt the moment our eyes locked at the ceremony. As if neither of us could stop this runaway train now that it was off the tracks.

But I could see that she didn’t know what to do with this connection any more than I did. I wanted to go fast, fast, fast, but I didn’t want to scare her.

“Do you still skate?” I asked to bring the subject back around.

She nodded. “Pretty sure it only made me more relentless.”

“I get that. In college, I took up kayaking again to get over my fear. I figured the only way out was through.”

“Exactly,” she said, gesturing emphatically. “The ice couldn’t break me.”

“Yes. My friends thought I was nuts, but I still kayak now. I love it. I take my dog, Bowie, out to Buffalo Springs Lake a lot.”

She blinked. “Bowie? Like David Bowie?”

“Yeah. He’s my favorite artist,” I said apologetically. “I know it’s dated, but…”

“You’re joking,” she gasped, nearly falling over herself.

“Uh, no?” I said hesitantly.

I never met people who understood the musical merits of David Bowie. He’d raised a generation. He’d been the sexual awakening of men and women alike. He was an icon. I would never accept Bowie slander.

“I was literally just listening to ‘Ziggy Stardust’ in the car.”

My face went skeptical. “No, you weren’t.”

“At full blast, mind you. As it is the only way to listen to Bowie.”

“I have the records at my house. They sound insane on the Bose stereo system.”

“I am dying,” she gasped. “I need that in my life. My mom sold all of her records from her roadie days, and I’m eternally sad about it.”

“Your mom was a roadie?” I asked with a laugh.

“Oh my God, yes. It’s hilarious. There’re all these pictures of her touring with bands and stuff. It’s why West got into music in the first place. And where I got my good taste in music. You can only grow up listening to so much Bowie, Mötley Crüe, Guns N’ Roses, and the like before you end up with it them as your faves.”

“Yeah, I get that. I’m close with my mom, too. She was addicted to REO Speedwagon, Styx, and Journey when I was growing up. I’d go to concerts with her when my dad was out of town. It was our thing.”

“Oh man, I’d kill to go. Mom got all her concerts in during her youth and said she doesn’t have eardrums for it anymore.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s also like, If I’m not front row in a mosh pit, is it even worth it?”

I cracked up. “Your mom sounds awesome.”

She beamed. “She is. I definitely didn’t get this way from my dickhole dad.”

“Yeah. Feel that. My dad is…not much of a peach either.”

The space between us narrowed again. Who the hell was this girl? Why hadn’t she existed in my life before this moment?

I’d started this because we’d had a moment at the wedding and continued when I found out she was Jordan’s little sister. But somehow, it had gone beyond that. She was as relentless in her pursuit of things she enjoyed. She loved the same music as me. We had similar family dynamics. And beyond all of that, I felt like I could relax with her. Like I didn’t have to second-guess every move the way I had in the past.

Everything felt simple. Effortless.

And I decided to go with the flow. I wanted this. And I didn’t want to wait another minute.

---