Page 16 of Eight Second Hearts

Travelling with Beau is a lot like travelling with a kid, but it’s always been like that. Beau is the adrenaline of the threeof us, the laughter. Tripp is the rock, always making sure we’re together. And me? I might as well be the dad of the group with how much I have to babysit the two of them.

And now we’ve invited the press into our inner sanctum without thinking it through.

I’m relieved when she falls asleep an hour later. She’d looked tired, the dark circles under her eyes hard to miss. She travels light, only bringing a medium sized duffel bag, so she has that propped up beneath her feet. I don’t miss the way she adjusts in her seat, trying to get more comfortable. She winces every now and then, but I don’t ask about it. Not my business. Hell, she shouldn’t even be in this truck. This is all a risk.

After a while, Tripp and I switch so that I’m driving and he’s able to get a few hours of sleep in the passenger seat. This is how we always operate. We switch every few hours, so the others are able to get some rest. We won’t get to Tucson with much time left for sleeping. The best we’ll get is a half night’s sleep before we do it all over again.

At least this rodeo won’t have the bullshit judge like the last one. No,La Fiesta De Los Vasquezis a celebration of Hispanic heritage like many of the other rodeos aren’t. This is where I thrive. This is where I’ll earn my keep.

In the back, Indie stirs. At some point, Beau had also fallen asleep and stretched out on the back seat, forcing Bilbo to the floor on his comfortable dog pillow. Beau’s head is in her lap, so when she stirs and looks down, I worry that she’s going to blow up on him. It’s an innocent thing. It just shows how comfortable he is with her.

Another dangerous realization.

“If you don’t mind him, let him sleep,” I say from the front seat. She blinks her eyes at me to try and clear some of the sleepiness. “He doesn’t get enough sleep as it is.”

She nods and leans her head back, trying to wake up fully. “If you guys need me to drive, I can,” she says, her voice husky from sleep.

It makes my hands tighten on the steering wheel, the way her voice sounds. “I’m not sure Tripp would be okay with you driving his truck,” I admit. “He loves this thing more than he loves us.”

“Tripp doesn’t seem like he’s okay with much of anything,” she murmurs, keeping her voice low so she doesn’t wake the others.

I smirk at her in the rearview mirror. “You’re not wrong.”

She sighs and runs a hand through her messy hair. “So, you guys give rides to journalists often?”

“Never,” I admit.

“Why me then?”

I raise my brow. “You suggestin’ we stop and kick you out?”

She snorts. “Not at all. Just curious.”

I meet her eyes in the mirror and shrug. “You’re paying for gas,” I say. “No one has ever offered to pay for gas.”

She blows out a puff of air. “If only I’d have known that’s all it took.”

I laugh. “Try and get some sleep,periodista,” I encourage. “Wouldn’t want you out there looking like a zombie.”

She nods and settles her head back, forcing her eyes closed, but I sense her wakefulness for a while after that, until finally, blissfully, she falls asleep and leaves me to drive in peace.

As much peace as a man can have when a beautiful woman like Indie Chen sits just behind him.

Chapter 12

Indie

Sometime early morning, we stop to fill up the truck and I get my first realization of just how big a mistake I’ve made. I’d assumed that filling up a diesel truck wasn’t a big deal, that it was similar to a Suburban.

I was so fucking wrong.

As I watch the numbers tick closer and closer to three hundred dollars, I try my best not to let my panic show. Apparently, paying for gas in a Chevy dually is not fucking cheaper than an airline ticket. For fuck’s sake.

Sixty gallons of diesel. Fucking sixty.

I keep my face neutral as I wait for the tank to fill, the three men around me watching carefully. The corner of Tripp’s lips curls up, his amusement evident on his smug fucking face as we wait for the pump to click. It’s the first time I’ve seen a semblance of a smile on him and fuck me, does it piss me right the fuck off. I don’t say anything though. That would just give him the satisfaction he seeks. So, I watch the numbers ticking up, hit three hundred, and then tick over.

I’ll just have to stay at a shittier motel in Tucson. My hips are going to hate me, but it is what it is.

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