Page 12 of Country

My ex, Mike, always presented like a church kid. Tall, lanky, and clean cut despite the fact that he was anything but clean.

My friend Lydia messages me.

Lydia: What the hell? Why am I the last to know?

I glance up at Country. “Lydia is texting. She’s asking me when we started dating. What do I tell her?”

“Stick to the plan. We can’t take a chance on anyone figurin’ out this is sort of bullshit.”

“Sort of?”

He grins. “Yeah, I mean… maybe you’ll like fake datin’ me and you’ll wanna really date me.”

I roll my eyes at his comment, but my pussy throbs. I would love a real date with Country, if it weren’t all so complicated.

Me: Sorry. It all happened pretty quick.

Lydia: Yeah, really quick. This morning you couldn’t stand the dude.

Me: Was that this morning? It seems like a lifetime ago.

Lydia: I mean, that picture is hot, though. On his bike, his hand on your throat. Daaannnmmm!

Me: OMG! Stop.

Lydia: Never. Where do I get one of these biker dudes? I need an adventure. That man looks like he could be a good time.

Me: I don’t know. Try a biker bar.

Lydia: Rugged Mountain doesn’t have a biker bar.

Me: Mullet’s is a biker bar when the bikers pull in. LOL.

Lydia: What do you even know about this guy?

She has a point. I don’t know a lot of things about Country. I know he’s southern, he likes grits with cheese, he’s good with his daughter, and his hands. Other than that, I’m clueless.

Me: I gotta go. I’ll call you later.

Lydia: Don’t you dare leave me. You owe me so many things.

Me: Yeah, right. LOL. Talk to you later. XOXO.

I know I’ll have an onslaught of messages from her later, but that’s what I love about Lydia. She’s persistent, nosy, and still manages to be everyone’s best friend. I could never pull that off. I worry too much about what people think. I need to get better about that. Who cares what people think?

Well, I do… but I should stop.

“It looks like the picture is doing well. We’re up to seventy-two likes, a bunch of crude comments, and a few shocked fans,” I say, glancing toward Country who’s poured himself a glass of tea.

“It’s a hot picture.”

“You’re hot in the picture. I look like a troll.”

He looks toward me. “You ain’t a troll. You’re gorgeous.”

I glance down at the floor and back up at him again. He’s standing in front of me, looking down, his gaze heavy and heated. It’s the same way it was in the classroom earlier.

“What do ya dream about?”

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