Page 43 of A Fighting Chance

Breathe, man.

I blink several times, attempting to still myself and leave my devious thoughts alone in the corner of my mind.

“Gentry?” she whispers again—and she has to stop saying my name like that.

She says it so softly, not quite a whisper, like the whole of it is a request or a wish to be granted. Like a prayer sent up to the stars. Or at least that’s how it sounds to me. And she has to stop.

“Yes?” I say, knowing without a doubt she could pretty much ask me to do anything at this point and I would definitely do it.

Buy you a car? What color?

Give you a baby? Hold my popcorn.

Move not just heaven, but earth, too? Where do you want them?

“Do we have to stay for the second movie?” she asks.

No the fuck we don’t, I think.

No. The. Fuck. We. Don’t.

I clear my throat. “Not if you don’t want to. Are you tired?” I ask, praying she isn’t.

“No. I just thought we could go back and maybe take a walk or sit and talk,” she says.

Talk?

Talk.

Okay, she wants to talk.

I swallow again, nodding. “Sure, yeah. We can do that,” I say.

The credits of this movie start to roll and it’s safe for us to leave. I climb out of the back and help her down from the truck by her waist. We climb into the cab and head back down the road.

We spend the ride in a comfortable silence. At one point, she reaches over for my hand, lacing her fingers with mine. And that’s how we remain for the rest of the ride. Holding hands, music playing quietly over the speakers, and my mind trying to shove all the filthy thoughts about her body into one corner so we can talk.

Talk. Jesus.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy talking to Lyla. That’s just…not what I want to do at this particular moment.

We park back at the farm and the house is quiet. I know everyone has already gone to sleep, so I try to be as quiet as I can when pulling in and parking.

“How about we get something to drink and sit on the porch swing?” she offers.

“Okay, sure. What do you want to drink?” I ask.

“Something that’ll warm me up,” she says, giving me a look I can’t quite place.

“So like, coffee?” I ask.

She giggles, shaking her head. “Like wine,” she clarifies.

Ohhhhhh. Okay.

Yes, let’s just lower those inhibitions while I’m trying to be a good boy why don’t we?

Great idea.

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