Page 19 of Hot Shot

“It was no prob, Cass. Like I said—anytime.”

I’ve been backing toward the parking lot since I opened my mouth, and with that, I wave and turn, exhaling heavily and in desperate need of a cold shower.

Remy’s old Chevy Silverado is right where I left it, rust colored and boxy. He fixed it up for me since I have no vehicle of my own to speak of. But it constantly needs tinkering with, and I’m not someone who can tinker, so its reliability is always in question.

Thankfully Roseville’s a whopping four square miles in size, so it hasn’t been too much of an inconvenience.

Yet.

Into the truck I climb, sliding across the bench seat to roll down the passenger window, the cab sweltering. Sweat trickles down my sternum, leaving me anxious to get moving so I can enjoy a breeze. When I turn on the truck, country music plays from the radio, and I buckle in and shift to reverse, the springy bench seat bouncing me with every little move.

Reciting times tables helps distract me from Wilder. It’s so strange to be back here after all this time. It feels sometimes as if the last ten years were a dream. Living in England, the apartment in Boston, all the traveling—it’s just this weird blip in my life that no longer exists. Most days, I feel like Dorothy waking up after her trip to Oz, back on Auntie Em’s farm like I never left.

Made sense—Oz was a lying bastard too.

I’m about to pull off Main Street when the check engine light comes on and the steering locks. Swearing, I use all my strength to turn the beast to the side of the road and pull the brake. With some additional swearing, I reach for my bag in search of my phone. But before I can call Remy, I look in the rearview to find something that shouldn’t send a fizzy thrill through me.

But it does.

Because Wilder pulled up behind me.

Maybe it’s the heat, or maybe I’m just desperate. Maybe I’m foolish, though I’m definitely stupid.

But the second I see him slide out of his truck in all his familiar, bestial glory, I acknowledge that fate is a cruel, cruel bitch.

And I put myself firmly in her hands.

CHAPTER 7

THE DEVIL IN THE DETAILS

WILDER

As we head to my house in my truck, I can smell her in the confines of the cab even over myself.

It’s driving me wild.

Her truck’s serpentine belt busted, and I have spares in my garage from the old truck I used to drive, if you want to come with me to get one, I said. So she strutted toward my truck, her hips a figure eight, climbing in tits first. Her cheeks were pink from the heat, the tip of her ponytail hanging over her shoulder in a pretty copper curl.

Neither of us speaks for a moment, and I worry I came on too strong, said too much. I’ve barely seen her since the whole wedding thing, which leaves me wondering—if she hadn’t been in hiding all summer and I’d spent the last weeks hitting on her like this, would we be together?

When she smiles over at me, I’m pretty sure the answer is absofuckinglutely.

You have a secret to tell her first. Think she’s gonna look at you like that when she finds out you lied to her?

And I definitely can’t tell herafter…whatever happens, if anything ever happens. Right?

Right.

Right. Definitely not.

All I have to do is come up with the answer I’ve spent for ten years looking for. You know, how the fuck to say it?

I clear my throat and try to keep my eyes on the road. “So, school’s starting soon?”

She lights up. “I start tomorrow! I mean, it’s like two weeks of professional development and lesson planning and setting up my class and all, but still! It’s happening. I can’t wait until my classroom is decorated, even if it’s only thanks to generous donations from my mother.” A sigh. “It’ll be nice to have my own money for once. My first real job!”

I cut a glance in her direction. “First?”

---