Page 94 of Reverse

“Nah, you can handle them and get their stories when you meet them.”

“Doyoulike them?”

“So far. We were practically fucking strangers when we hit the road a month ago, but that’s the whole point of doing the van thing, to remedy that and see if we vibe. We’re basically living in the fucking thing, stuck together for endless hours on the road. It’s been . . .” he widens his eyes with a chuckle, “something.”

“Already collecting war stories, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“I’m sure.” Even I hear the hint of jealousy in my tone and berate myself for it.

Ewww, Natalie.

Still, it’s hard to imagine he’s immune to the staggering amount of female attention he’s getting. He probably has hourly opportunities to get his needs met, and damn if that doesn’t sting. The memory of the feel of him inside me that day at his studio hits me like a tidal wave as I look over at him.

I swear I catch a hint of a smile on his face before he turns and stalks back over to the digital photo frame just as an old picture of my dad and me appears. I’m in my softball uniform, holding my glove awkwardly. Dad’s kneeling behind me, surrounding me in his large build as we flash twin smiles for the camera.

“I’d just made catch of the year,” I tell Easton as he holds his finger on the photo to keep it from changing.

“You were that good?”

“Just the opposite, I was terrible,” I laugh as I pull out a drawer. “Outside of riding horses, I don’t have an athletic bone in my body. See how big that glove is?”

“Yeah, it’s huge.”

“I’d forgotten mine that day and had to use my coach’s. I think that’s the only reason I made that catch. Dad was in the stands as the ball was popped right to me. I just stuck my glove out to shield myself and miraculously caught it. Stunned, I just stared at it in my hand as Dad screamed at me from the stands to throw it to second. When I did, it earned us a double play, and we won the game.” I giggle at the memory. “That was my first andlastseason. I quit when I was on top. Played soccer for a few seasons though, Dad coached. Turns out I was just good at running, and he liked it because I had a lot of energy and would pass out on the way home. So, basically, he wanted to be seen as a doting father but was just a bad parent.”

Easton chuckles, releasing the picture as more snapshots of my life unfold on screen. Scanning the suitcase, I opt to pull on some white shorts beneath my skirt before discarding it.

“Keep the heels,” Easton orders thickly, glancing over at me as I turn my head, and our eyes collide.

The air charges between us as I lift a brow.

“Please,” he adds dryly as if he’s reached his limit for the day and the word is now leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

“Thought you weren’t here forthat,” I snark.

“I’m here foryou. But we’re not going anywhere if you don’t hurry the hell up.”

I slip on my worn checkered Vans and opt to toss my favorite heels in the suitcase before zipping it up.

Without prompt, he walks over and lifts the case from my bed, running his fingers over my patched quilt comforter as if he couldn’t resist feeling it on his fingertips before extending his hand toward me. The familiarity of the act brings forth everything lingering between us, and so I do what feels natural. I take it.

TWENTY-EIGHT

“Steal Away”

Robbie Dupree

Natalie

Gaping at the footage on the cell phone, I glance back at Jason Garett, aka Tack, Easton’s hired drummer, as he grins back at me from the first row of the van. Stunned, I flit my gaze to Easton, who opted to drive while I ride shotgun.

“You outran a fucking tornado?” I scold in my Bactine and Band-Aid maternal tone.

“We were at a safe enough distance,” Easton defends weakly, a grin brewing on his lips.

“That’s a bit of a stretch. Look at this,” Tack admits, thrusting a picture of golf ball-sized hail cradled in his heavily tattooed hand toward me.

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