Page 97 of The Wife Situation

“I already do.”

Our gazes linger too long before he opens the door for me.

Easton gets out and meets me on the ground. I step down and stumble into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” I say with a laugh.

“I’m getting used to it,” he says, letting me go.

We take the short hike to the Jeep. It’s lifted, and it sits on fat, knobby tires for climbing and trail riding.

I walk around it. “This thing is a monster.”

Easton opens the driver’s door and steps to the side. “You can go first.”

“Fuck yes,” I say, clapping my hands together.

“Don’t make me regret it,” he tells me.

I climb up the step, pull myself inside, and buckle the harness seat belt, noticing the reinforced roll bars. I move the seat closer to the steering wheel, knowing whoever drove this thing last must’ve been a giant.

Easton adjusts the passenger seat, shaking his head. “We’ve got fifteen miles of trails to climb. When it gets rough and beats the shit out of you, we can trade. Overall, the view is worth it.”

He points to a single dirt track with several switchbacks.

I lean backward, covering my eyes with my hand, and wish I’d brought a hat.

“You think you can handle it?” he questions.

“Pfft. Let’s fucking go,” I say.

He grabs onto theoh shitbar, and I kick in the clutch, popping it into first gear as we take off toward the trail.

“When do I get to start asking you questions?”

“Now.”

“What were you like as a teenager?”

Easton laughs and looks at me like I grew a third eye. “You’re the only person in the world who’s ever been given the opportunity to ask me anything, and that’s what you want to know?”

“It’s my first question, not my only one. Plus, I’m curious,” I explain.

The smile on my face might be permanent as I breathe in the fresh air and soak up the sunshine.

“I was a smart-ass who thought he had the world figured out.”

I chuckle. “Nothing has changed.”

“Touché,” he says.

I position the tires to avoid the ruts and kick it into second gear. It’s bumpy, and I can feel the incline as I’m pushed back into my seat.

“Have you done this a lot?” Easton asks, watching me navigate.

“Back home, there was this community on the mountainside, and it had theshittiestroads. Rough and bumpy. Ruts so deep that it was easy to believe you might fall into the pits of Hell. When I was sixteen, my best friend, Remi, and I stole my older brother’s truck. He had a four-wheel drive, so we drove up there after a rainstorm to go mudding. I got stuck in three feet of mush and the tow truck couldn’t get up there and pull it out for weeks. My mama grounded me for a month, but I have no regrets because I’m still laughing about it. When my friends and I were bored, that was where we’d go.”

He laughs. “Were you rebellious?”

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