Page 37 of Honey Bee Hearts

“So, uh. . .” I twist my fingers together, nervous. “If you’re not busy, I mean, if you are, that’s okay, I’ll live. But if you’re not. . . I was wondering if we could go into town and find me a proper hat for tonight?”

He grins. “And you wanna go with me?”

“Gunnar was busy,” I reply, tilting my head. “He said you might be willing to take me.”

He studies me for a second, looking me up and down in my jeans and t-shirt. It gives me ample time to study him back.

Rhett is a beautiful man. Every time I see him, I’m struck by his beauty. He’s almost too pretty, but where he’s pretty, he’s also incredibly masculine. The beard along his jaw and chin is always well kept, as if he trims it every morning. His hair is perfectly styled, a single curl coming down over his forehead. Those brilliant blue eyes are so blue, they speak of waters somewhere exotic. I feel as if I could dive deep into them and still never know who Rhett is. He hides behind that pretty boy charisma, behind his fuckboy attitude. I have no doubt that sex with Rhett would be good, but no one should tell him that. His ego is big enough as it is.

“Yeah, I can take you,” he finally answers. “The Boot Emporium in Steele should have plenty of hats to choose from. Last time I was there, they even had pink ones, if that’s your vibe.”

I shrug. “I don’t know what my vibe is yet. But I appreciate you agreeing to take me.”

He tosses me his truck keys and I barely have enough time to catch them. “You’re driving,” he says, as if I’m doing him a favor when we both know it’s because I’m terrible at riding. None of them have pried for more information about why I insist on driving. None of them have made me feel silly because of it. I think they just assume I get carsick and would prefer I didn’t in their trucks, but I haven’t given any explanation.

I follow Rhett out to his large red pickup truck, a chevy with more wheels than I know what to do with, just like Gunnar’s, but in green. Why does a man need a truck with four back wheels? I don’t get it, but it’s not like I’m a stranger to it. There are plenty of trucks in Florida, many of them lifted sky high and dangling truck balls off the back of them. I’m just glad Rhett doesn’t have the matching set of testicles hanging off the back of his truck even though he seems the type to. Maybe he’s never seen them before up here. Maybe that’s why none of the guys have them.

Small blessings.

I climb into the driver seat and go about moving his seat. Just like Gunnar, he never complains about me moving it. It seems like they just don’t care about that sort of thing. He throws his arms across the middle and braces it against the back of the driver’s seat once we’re on the road. I’m highly conscious of his hand being there, but don’t say anything. It’s not like he’s touching me, and even if he were, his forearm is real fucking nice where he has his button down rolled up. I might be okay with touching.

Who am I kidding? I’d be totally fine with it.

“Understandable,” Jinx says. “I bet that man tastes just like the honey he harvests.”

My eyes flicker to the rearview mirror but I don’t see her in the backseat. Instead, I catch sight of her in the bed of the truck, her head tipped back over the side, her eyes closed. The wind doesn’t touch her. Her pink hair doesn’t whip around her like it should. She’s untouched and imaginary.

My eyes flick back to the road in front of me as I ease onto the main road and head toward Steele.

“So. . .” Rhett begins, and I know I’ve hit my limit on how long I can go before I talk about it. “Do you get carsick?”

I take a deep breath through my nose and glance at him. “No. I don’t.”

“Why do you have to drive then?” he asks curiously. “Is it a control thing? My Uncle Bobby used to refuse to ride because he didn’t like not being in control. Bastard still died at the wheel though. Apparently, he liked control, but he liked whiskey more.”

I blink at his words. “It’s. . . complicated. It’s a bit about control, yes, but. . . I was in a car wreck.”

“Recently?” he asks. At my nod, he whistles. “Well, damn. Bad one?” When I nod again while refusing to look at him, he sighs. “I get it then.”

But he offers no other information about why he might get it. I’m reminded of Mel’s story about his family, how he lost them in a car wreck, and I realize we may have a little more in common than I originally thought. Unlike Rhett though, I was in the wreck that took my family. He doesn’t have the image in his head. . .

We fall into this comfortable silence as we slowly head to Steele. The little sign welcoming us to town appears on the right and Rhett watches it pass before he turns toward me with a serious expression. It’s so serious, I tense, preparing for the question he’s going to ask. It’s going to be something about the wreck. I just know it. So I have to prepare for?—

“Have you ever given road head?” he asks.

A laugh startles out of me. “What?”

“Road head? Like a blowjob on the go? Not driving, of course. You’d be the rider. . . You know what? This question seems dumb now considering you have to drive, but like before your traumatic experience, I mean,” he rambles on.

I glance over at him with raised brows, laughter still spilling from my lips. “If I had, I don’t think I’d be telling you about it.”

“That means you’ve done it,” he grins. “Me, too.”

“You’ve given road head?” I ask, grinning back.

His brows raise. “No. Received. Can’t say I’ve given it. Unless that one night I got drunk with Gunnar and Colt was a lot more fun than I remember.”

I snort and can’t stop the laughter from spilling out. He’s completely comfortable with himself, so comfortable he doesn’t take offense to anything. And it’s only as my chuckles begin to dissipate that I realize what he’d done.

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