Page 38 of A Fighting Chance

“Have fun, you two.” Her words are punctuated by the screen door smacking against the door frame.

We approach his truck and he walks me to the passenger side, where he opens the door for me. He gestures for me to get in and after I slide up into the seat, he shuts the door. Chivalry truly is a lost art but it’s alive and thriving here in the south—and no part of me minds it.

We take off down the gravel road and turn left onto the next. I start to think about where we might be going, but it makes me too nervous so I try to simply embrace the surprise of it.

“Do you want some music on?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” I say.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and hooks it to the cord between us. After he hands me the phone, he turns his attention back to the road. “Help yourself.”

I scroll through his songs and playlists until I find a country music one that suits me. It seems to be full of slower, more romantic songs. The idea of sultry notes filling the cab does something to me. I watch the side of his mouth hitch up and know he likely approves of my choice.

“How far away is where we’re going?” I ask.

As I watch his face, it becomes contemplative. He dips his head from side to side. “Probably only ten minutes or so,” he says.

I nod, settling back into my seat and pulling at my flowy sleeves. The space falls silent for a few minutes and I can’t tell if it’s awkward or not. It seems comfortable enough, but I can’t get a read on his expression—or ifhe’scomfortable, for that matter. Not wanting to assume or force anything, I decide to be natural. “So, how was your day?” I ask, figuring the question is benign enough.

“Not too bad. Went by too slowly, though,” he says.

“How come?”

“Thinking about you too much, if I had to guess,” he says, glancing at me then back to the road, a smile plastered to his face.

Okay, that’s good. Smooth. Real smooth.

I tuck my hair behind my ear and attempt to suppress a smile. Clearly, he isn’t an amateur at this. “I see.”

“What about you? How was your day?” he asks, stealing another glance my way.

“Not bad. It didn’t really go by too slowly for me, luckily,” I say.

“You weren’t thinking of me?” he asks.

“No. I mean, I was. A little. But—”

“Calm down,” he says with a laugh. “You’re not on trial.”

Trying to pull myself together is an impossible task around Gentry, but I press on anyway. “I just mean…yes, I was thinking of you, but for whatever reason, it didn’t slow down my day.”

Gentry nods at this and, as if to further calm my nerves, reaches over and rests his hand on my thigh. For the record, this does not calm anything, least of all my nerves. My body reacts to his touch like it’s brand new. As if it had forgotten that we slept with him—twice. Heat radiates outward from where his hand is and travels up into my lower stomach then down into my knee caps; and I fight the urge to shake it off because part of me wants to feel it.

“We’re here,” he announces, interrupting my thoughts of pushing his hand from me and throwing myself from the moving truck just to get far enough away from him to catch my breath.

I look up, trying to figure out exactly whathereis. We’re in a line of cars, and there’s a small booth sitting at the edge of the road ahead. I look around, not really seeing any signs, and then turn to him.

If his grin is any indication, he doesn’t plan to elaborate. Not even now. He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and removes some cash, then places the wallet in his driver side door.

When it’s our turn at the window, he and the man there exchange almost no information.

The man looks inside the cab, tells Gentry the price, Gentry hands him the money, and the man gives him two tickets and tells us to enjoy the show.

What show?

Gentry drives forward until we round a thick row of trees and I immediately understand. In the distance, a large screen is playing previews. Rows of cars and trucks are lined up neatly in front of it. There's just one small building to the side.

“A drive-in movie!” I squeal.

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