Page 84 of Please, Sir

I blink. “You don’t smoke.”

Cadence smirks. “And something tells me you’re not a serial killer.”

I let out a sigh. “I’m meeting my parents. We’re doing some family therapy in an attempt to communicate better. And, if that goes well, maybe we will tackle some of our other issues.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I notice she’s in a sweat suit, and not a cute Juicy Couture one but like, an actual cuffed ankle sweat suit. “Don’t,” she says on an exhale. “I look like shit.”

I shake my head. “You really don’t. I’ve just never seen you so casual.”

“It’s the weekend,” she says, “I couldn’t stand the idea of pouring myself into a skirt and heels on a Saturday morning.”

I waggle my brows. “Why do you think I like wearing polos and jeans? Heels are overrated.” I lean in. “But your calves are phenomenal, so maybe it is worth it?”

She laughs, but it’s mostly awkward, as with most things Cadence Caine. Finally she turns to me, gripping the armrest of the vinyl covered chair, her eyes penitent.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you. For whatever it’s worth, you’re right. I’m not a good coach and you definitely deserved the JV job.”

I don’t try to talk her down because, as uncomfortable as it is to sit with the truth, it’s far worse to sit with a lie. “Thanks,” I say, acknowledging her apology. I don’t have much else to say, but she apologized, and I value her for that.

“I was outside the office that day,” she blurts out. “I heard and– anyway, I waited outside the office until Jolene Turner’s dad came.” Her cheeks flame as she looks down at her fingernails a moment then back up to me. “I was with a guy like that once. I’m glad you’re with Jo Jo’s dad. You two seem really happy.”

“I didn’t know that,” I tell her, skipping over everything about Jake. An apology doesn’t mean she needs details of my life, but I had no idea Cadence waited until help came.

She nods. “I just… I couldn’t leave, not with you in there crying. I was so scared for you, Riley,” she admits, her eyes growing wet. She adjusts her necklace, then smooths her hands down her ponytail. I get the impression she’s not used to being this way—vulnerable and honest, but her face is soft and her body is relaxed—it looks much better on her than bitchy does.

“That means a lot. Thanks. I mean, I didn’t know but, thank you.” The door opens, breaking our moment, but starting a whole new moment. One I’ve been dreading.

I get to my feet. “Hi mom, hi dad.”

“Jake’s pulling up,so I gotta go. How come you’re not at the market?” I ask Leah, who I promised a post-therapysummary. I get to my feet from the curb behind the office, where I’d been waiting alone. My parents offered to give me a ride out to the market, but I’m not looking to merge worlds. Not today. Not anytime soon, if ever.

“I’m… having lunch with someone today,” she draws out. “A new someone.”

“Leah Mitchell! You didn’t tell me you have a date!” I blurt out, just as Jake’s truck comes into view. “And you never told me you dumped the last guy!”

“Story for another day about him. But this time, when there’s something good to tell, I’ll tell you. Anyway, I’m proud of you for going today. You didn’t have to, but you went. You are perpetually the bigger person.”

I tip my chin up triumphantly. “I really am.”

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

“See ya,” I say, ending the call just as Jake idles at the curb, the large rim of his hat shading a portion of his face as he rolls down the window and winks. My insides turn into a flurried mess.

He jumps out, coming around the front of the truck to catch me in his arms, holding me tight. “I missed you,” he whispers, his words hot against my ear, dripping down the collar of my shirt. Holding the door open, Jake helps me in, then joins me, slipping behind the steering wheel a moment later.

“You look gorgeous,” he says, reaching for my hand to hold. I don’t know if it’s his extra years on me or if it’s just who Jake is, but I love that he opened with a compliment instead of peppering me with questions. Almost like he knew what I’d need to hear first—love, not inquisition.

“Thank you. How’d it go with the saddle? How’s the booth today?” I ask, enjoying the beautiful day as I roll downthe window and let my arm swim through the wind as we drive.

“She loved it. Wants to start riding–all three of us, as soon as the season is over.” He leans over and kisses me just then, before retreating back to his side, like he had to seal the good news with a small celebration. I love that I am his celebration. “The rest? Great. Jo Jo stayed back to watch over things while I came and got you. We’re about to pack up pretty soon but I thought you’d like to come for the last hour. Maybe grab some things for tonight.” He splits his focus between the road and me. "Dorothea's got some whiskey-flavored fudge and Hudson has his root beer milk again.”

I waggle my brows. “Oh, I like that.” I squeeze his hand, garnering an extra glance my way. “Jake, I feel ready to move into your room. I was hoping tonight we could talk to Jo Jo, and see if she’s ready.”

Hat tipped slightly forward, dark eyes glued to the horizon, steering wheel in his grip, Jake groans, and I feel it between my legs. “Goddamn, am I happy to hear you say that,” he says, then tugs at the crotch of his fitted, filthy jeans, the ones that make me wet just seeing him in them. “Made me a little hard.” He winks.

I slide across the empty seat between us and place my hand on his crotch. “Nothing aboutthisis little.”

He laughs, and drapes his arm around my shoulders. “Just the idea of waking up every day with you in my arms. Hell, not to mention holding you while we fall asleep.” He shakes his head, and with my free hand I reach up and tug at the loose curls near his neck.

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