Page 69 of Buckled in Barbwire

She shakes her head, and a blonde curtain hides her from me. “No, I changed my mind.”

I tuck the fallen hair behind her ear, my fingers brushing her red cheek in the process. “C’mon, Twinkles. Spill the beans.”

“I had a crush on you,” she blurts. Her exhale is loud as if she’s pushing a weight off her chest. “If I can even call it a crush. It was more like an infatuation. You were just so hot riding that mechanical bull. Really left an impression.”

“Ah, yes. The first time you saw me.”

“And one of the only times until recently,” she clarifies. “I always knew Bianca had an older brother and there were plenty of rumors, but you were an enigma until that night at The Paddock. That drew quite a crowd. No wonder why. Once I caught sight of you, I was hooked. Never told a soul. It was silly and shallow.”

The past tense isn’t appreciated. An irrational spike of jealousy boils in my gut as I listen to her babble on about a former version of myself. I put my beer on the coffee table, giving this issue my undivided attention.

“Why didn’t you ever try talking to me?” Not that I would’ve been receptive, especially to my little sister’s best friend who I frequently compared to an infected pimpleon my ass. Damn, I deserve to be stomped under her sparkly boots.

Paisley’s flat expression reflects a similar thought. “I approached you at your mother’s funeral. We know how well that went.”

“Not my finest moment,” I admit on a wince. And prior to that, I avoided her overly optimistic attitude like she would plague me.

Her brows lift in acknowledgment. “My so-called crush was squashed after that.”

“Have I redeemed myself?”

“Hardly.” She swirls the liquor in her glass. “It’s going to take more than a few nights of you being civil toward me. I’m not that easy.”

Did someone give me a shovel? I’m digging myself into one hell of a hole. My palms rub together, and I stretch out in a vulnerable position.

“Clean slate, Twinkles. Ask me anything. I’m an open book for you to pry apart.”

“That doesn’t benefit me.”

“I’m trying,” I murmur. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Maybe a little bit.” Paisley holds up a pinch.

My exhale ends on a grin. “I like that you make me work for it.”

“Can’t imagine the last time you had to.”

A faded memory surfaces. “Ninth grade.”

“Oh, wow,” she laughs.

I nod. “Misty Johnson needed to be dined and dated before I could touch her tits.”

“How romantic.”

“Goes to show there’s room for improvement.”

Her snort becomes a dry laugh. “Like an entire estate worth.”

“We’ve gotta start somewhere.” I motion for her to let me have it. “What do you wanna know?”

She flounders for a moment. “I can’t think of something on the spot.”

“Not so spontaneous, hmm? Fine, how about I ask you?” I peer deep into her eyes. “Tell me about yourself, Paisley Benson.”

“First of all, I didn’t agree to change my last name.” My sassy wife wags her finger. “And second, that’s not any better. I need a helpful prompt.”

My brain takes a deep dive into the past when I actually cared about getting to know the person across from me. “Would you rather…?”

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