Page 101 of Dust Storm

“Rebecca Davis?—”

“Griffith,” she corrected.

“Please, just go to the nail salon.”

“No, no, no,” she said with a laugh as she pulled over into a vacant gas station parking lot and stopped the truck. “Too many busybodies. You won’t tell me a thing.What happened?”

I drummed my fingers on the center console, debating how much to say.

I didn’t know how to go out with girlfriends. But more than that, I didn’t have girlfriends. It had never seemed important.

I had Tripp. I had my career. I had my clients. I was working and socializingfor themall the time.

Why did I need my own life?

But weekends on the ranch were lonely.

Christian spent as much time as he could with Bree and Gracie. They rode horses together. They cleaned the house and did laundry together. Nights were spent in the living room watching movies.

And there I was. The creepy lady hiding in the guest room.

One of them always invited me to join them, but that wasn’t a line I would cross.

Not that I was opposed to taking him up on round two, but sleeping with Christian was different than playing house.

Going out with Becks—even if it was a little awkward—was the reprieve I needed.

“Nothing happened,” I lied with the practiced efficacy of a seasoned red carpet wrangler.

“You do realize that I know how to lie on camera too, right?” Becks rolled her eyes. “Look. I know we aren’t sister wives or anything like that, but we’re not strangers. You can tell me. It has to be lonely being out here.”

“Nothing happened. It’s just been a tense few days. CJ’s not happy about the revitalization project, and Christian’s trying to get everyone on board before things move forward.”

She smirked. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m so out of practice.” I groaned and slumped into the truck seat. “I should’ve known better. Rule number one: never get stuck sitting with a journalist.”

Becks laughed. “And you’re stuck with me for the next few hours. But at least you know I can keep my mouth shut. Andunless your situation with Chris is classified as ‘foreign affairs,’ I can’t use it for work.”

I glared at her. “Off the record?”

She zipped her lips. “I won’t say a word.”

“Not even to your husband?”

“I promise.”

I pointed at her. “No spousal privilege. I’m serious.”

Becks breathed heavily and readjusted her posture. “Do you want me to slice my finger open and write an NDA on the dashboard in blood? Just tell me already. It stays between us.”

I sat back and cringed. “Christian and I hooked up.” I peered out of the corner of my eye, waiting for her reaction.

“And?” she pressed.

“And nothing. We slept together once. That’s it.”

Satisfied, she pulled out of the lot and headed toward town. “And do you want to do it again?”

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