Page 76 of The Cost of Forgetting You

Want company?

The image of him, water droplets pooling in the valleys of his abdomen, pops into my mind. I wet my lips, sucking in a sharp breath. I’m not sure if it’s hope or anxiety causing the tremors in my hands when I type out my reply.

Me

Will you keep your underwear on?

Truett

You’ll have to wait and see. ;)

Nervous laughter rattles my chest. I press the phone to my stomach and breathe deep, trying to calm myself. Energy crackles through me anyway. I’m tired. I’m upset. I’m turned on. And underneath it all, I’m still unsure of him. It’s a maddening combination. How do I face him, knowing what almost happened between us last? More importantly, how do I face him if he’s naked?

You could be naked, too, the more salacious part of my brain suggests.

I shake my head. The thoughts are still there, clamoring around, but I force myself to ignore them. To open the door and check on my father. To write him a note letting him know where I’ll be and place it on the side table next to the couch. And when I finally feel at least partially in control, I fire off a reply, letting Truett know I’ll meet him there.

Truett

Need a ride?

Me

No, I’ll take the exercise. I need the time to think.

Truett

About…?

Me

Mom called.

Truett

10-4. I’ll bring drinks.

Me

Bless you.

I’m already to his property line by the time I send the last text. I tuck the phone into my back pocket and lift my head, filling my lungs with hot evening air that’s as thick as syrup. I will it to clear my mind—and my body—of so many unwanted feelings. It’s got about twenty minutes to do its job.

When I arrive in the clearing, sweat pools in all my crevices, leaving me sticky. It doesn’t help that Tru’s shirt is already off. He’s laid out in the shade of the willow tree, using his wadded-up T-shirt as a pillow. His straw cowboy hat covers his face. The sun is fading fast, casting an orange glow through the meadow. It glistens on his exposed chest, slick with sweat and though pale compared to his tanned arms, still golden from days where he works the fields just like this.

Shirtless.

His breath is slow and even. I envy that—the ability to fall asleep so quickly and on just about any surface this earth has to offer. I also envy the light. Spools of gold settle on ridges of muscle where they’ve slipped through gaps in the willow’s branches. A precocious flash of orange illuminates the path of the V-shaped muscles carving his lower abdomen, then disappearing beneath the waistband of his Wranglers. I want to trace them with my tongue. Taste the sweat there. Savor that delicious orange light.

“You’re drooling.”

My jaw slackens. “You’re awake?”

He sits up, propping himself on two hands braced behind him. It pulls his biceps taut. His hat falls to the side, and I’m left with Truett. Bare and unfiltered. His golden hair falls over his forehead. There’s a smudge of dirt on his freckled nose. A smirk perched on his lips.

You’re beautiful, I almost blurt out. I bite my tongue.

“How was the walk?”

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