Page 33 of Serpentine

There aren’t many in the town who don’t know who we are, nor many who haven’t had to ask for a favor or two.

Alice is also my cousin, so she’ll do whatever I ask within reason. Once, when we were children, I dared her to eat a frog, and she beat me over the head with a bucket full of sand instead. I still have the scar on my scalp that accompanies the memory.

“Alright, thanks. We’ll see you soon,” I say before hanging up.

Aella is gawking at me when I turn back around, absently touching the scar on my head. “What?”

“Private shopping spree? I have my clothes, you know. You could take me back h—” She clears her throat, likely thinking about what awaits her once she returns to the home she shares with her fiancé. Well, ex-fiancé. “Never mind. We riding the bike?”

I shake my head. “Nope. We’re going to drive the truck.”

Her eyes light. “Truck?”

“Come on, princess. Time to have a little fun.”

We go out to the clubhouse, and I open the last bay.

Aella gasps as she comes into contact with my baby, a project of mine for the last five years since I found it at auction for a pretty fucking penny.

“What is it?” She runs her hand over the rounded hood, her fingers looking delicate against the bright red paint.

“1954 Chevrolet 3100,” I tell her proudly. Its rounded fenders, hood, and five-bar horizontal grill mark it as one of the most sought-after trucks in America. I’d recently added a new paint job and leather to the interior seat.

The white-wall tires elevate the feel of the truck. It looks like something you’d see on Grease. It’s easy to picture John Travolta leaning against it as he took in Sandy as she walked past.

“It’s so cool!” Aella says, moving to the passenger door and opening it before I can do it for her.

She slides onto the seat and shuts the door, the sound of it slamming indicating its weight.

I smirk, getting into the driver’s seat and cranking the engine.

The truck revs to life, and Aella slides into the middle, putting one leg toward mine so it doesn’t knock into the gearshift on the floor. Now, I’ll have to rest my arm on her thigh to shift, and it’s going to be hard to think past how close her sweet center is to my hand as I’m driving.

It was wiser to take the truck since we’ll have bags. But part of me had wanted to show it off. I don’t know if it’s because she’s used to the luxury that I’d wanted to. Logically, she doesn’t put off the vibe of someone who needs luxury to survive. If anything, she feels like a girl enamored by those who pay attention to her, not those who shower her with gifts.

I’m not going to lie; it’s attracting me to her more.

Because it’s fucking rare.

Pulling up behind Oakwood Boutique, I linger a little longer in the truck. I’ve already pulled the parking brake and shut off the engine. My hand is on Aella’s thigh, fingers circling over the thin fabric she dons.

“What is it about you?” I ask no one at all. Honestly, I meant for it to remain in my head.

She clears her throat, just as affected as I am by our proximity. “What is it about you?”

“When this is over, when you’re back home, in your perfect world, will you regret what you’ve done with us?” I ask her, not knowing where the question came from.

“No,” she answers immediately. “It’s the first time I’ve let myself be free. Let myself do what I want to.”

“Free of your royal duties, hm? Free to roam around with the peasants,” I say absently, and she pushes my hand off her leg.

I look up at her. “What?”

“Don’t be like that. Do I act like I’m any better than you? No. I don’t, Miles. So what you just said was uncalled for.”

She slides across the seat towards the other door, and it feels as if she’s a million miles away.

I’m sorry.

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