Page 47 of Dizzy

I need to get out of here. Collect myself.

Dizzy stalks back over. “I said don’t move.” He snatches my T-shirt off the floor. “Arms up.”

I do what he says without thinking. He carefully pulls the shirt over my head, freeing my hair from the neck hole and smoothing it over my shoulder. Then he drops a kiss on my forehead. I keep my eyes on the floor.

“You weirded out?” he asks.

“Yes,” I squeak.

“Me, too.” My gaze flies up. His eyes are dark, as intent on me as they were before, when he was standing in the doorway, keeping me at arm’s length.

He’s not smug and self-satisfied like Rylan or those few other boys. Is he feeling unsteady, too?

A strange awareness swirls in my belly. It’s like I’ve known this guy longer than a few days. It’s vaguely comforting, but it’s also scary as hell.

I think Igetthis guy.

And I don’t think this is a case of the big, bad biker taking advantage of the poor, young house mouse.

Dizzy is as shook as I am.

“Go get a shower. We’ll have lunch and head into town. I need some coyote urine. We’ll stop by the tractor supply after we get you some clothes.”

He kisses me again on the forehead, turns, and leaves. Behind me, the washing machine falls silent.

I’m left alone, mind whirling.

It isn’t “Was it good for you, baby?” But as far as sweet talk goes, I’ve heard worse.

6

DIZZY

“This sucks.” Parker’s got his hands jammed in his pockets, a mulish look on his face. Then again, when don’t he?

“Ain’t you used to going shopping with your mom?” As I recall, Sharon went all the time.

“She gets clothes in a box now,” Carson pipes up. “In the mail. If she don’t like it, she sends ‘em back.” Carson’s popping a squat on the department store floor and playing a game on his phone. I don’t know why Parker ain’t doin’ the same.

“Sounds convenient.”

“She forgets to mail the boxes back in time, and then she gets pissed.” Carson reclines precariously against a dress rack.

We’re waiting outside the dressing room in the lady’s section. I’m gettin’ a lot of looks from the good women of Petty’s Mill. A couple smiles, too.

We still gotta go to the tractor supply after this. If Parker keeps up the attitude, he gets to hold the coyote urine on the way home.

Fay-Lee’s only been in there a few minutes. She’s been bashful since the laundry room. Blushing and stumblin’ over her words. I been touchin’ her—handin’ her up into the truck, tuckin’ stray hairs behind her ear—just to watch her get flustered.

She’s pretty as a picture.

I exhale. Corral my thoughts. This ain’t the time or place to pop wood.

She was so fuckin’ sweet, though. So soft and carried away. There could’ve been an earthquake, and I bet she would’ve kept ridin’ my hand.

On the ride here, I was catchin’ her eye in the rearview every chance I got, just to watch her squirm, until she ended up crackin’ the window to get some air, and Parker bitched at her to roll it back up.

I thought he’d be all over campin’ in the basement for a few nights. Play video games until all hours. Have his own bathroom he don’t have to share with his little brother. I explained this ain’t for long.

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