Page 126 of Double Bucked

You better be right about this one, dragonfly.

“Now,” I say, my voice low, chastising, “where would Butch Cassidy be without his Sundance Kid?”

There it is. That crooked grin. “Are you calling me your Kid?”

“I’m calling you my Butch.”

I watch as, in real time, Ransom settles back into his skin.

My hands have a strange itch to roam. To blindly explore the hard edges and warm skin of the man my Claire adores. I push my thumb roughly over the scruff of his jaw, petting him roughly. He doesn’t pull away, just looks at me with that blank, docile stare.

“Come on,” I tell him. “Let’s go find Claire.”

42

CLAIRE

I’m still fiddling with the Belleflower Queen invitation when, suddenly, Everett is behind me. I don’t have to look up to know it’s him. I can just feel him. That tall, shadowy presence at my back.

He dips to reach my ear. “What’s that?”

I should tell him. I should tell him about the invite, and about Arris, and the way everything feels all twisted up inside my body.

Instead, I tuck the card back into the envelope and slip it into my pocket.

“Nothing. I saw you two had an eventful game.”

“Sure was eventful, alright,” Ransom says, slipping into the seat across from me. They’re out of the borrowed uniforms and back in their regular clothes, but Ransom’s hair is askew, and just from looking at him, I can tell he smells like earth and sweat.

I want to inhale him.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say.

Those brown eyes meet mine. “Where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

We make our rounds. I say my goodbyes to the girls, and we leave the Equestrian Club. The three of us get into Ransom’s truck, and he takes me to what is quickly becoming my favorite spot.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Maeby greets us with one of her legendary, crooked smiles and hooks her arm around Ransom.

“Nothing but three blind mice,” Ransom retorts.

“Twice in one week. I must be goddamn blessed.”

“Goddamn blessed,” Everett muses. “That’s an oxymoron.”

“We’re starving to death, Miss Maeby,” I say, changing the topic. “Please tell me the kitchen’s open?”

“Sure, sugar. I’ll bring out some menus.”

“And a pitcher of your finest, please.” Ransom gives her a wolf’s smile, and she cackles out a laugh.

Maeby’s has a small crowd, even at 3:00 p.m. The three of us hunker down in a booth with ripped seats. Maeby brings out a pitcher and three glasses. The beer is cheap, but it’s crisp, and there’s something about an easy-drinking beer in the middle of the day that settles me.

We order lunch.

I don’t realize how hungry I am until I’m gifted a plastic basket with a burger dripping with American cheese.

---