Page 21 of Memories of Us

“What's wrong with your damn air conditioning?”

I tucked a rogue brown curl behind my ear with a grimace. “Uh, yeah that. It's broken.”

“You're fucking with me.”

“Unfortunately no.”

“And what’s that damn smell?”

“Cow shit, probably remnants of some animal placenta and...” I took an exaggerated whiff. “Old tacos mixed with Sea Breeze air freshener. Which is failing terribly at its one job.”

While mumbling a stream of colorful curse words, he rolled down the window. “And I thought a helicopter filled with soldiers after a ten-day assignment was bad.”

“Told you I always win.”

“Is this something you want to win?”

“Winning is winning.”

“How long has your AC been out?”

Right. The last thing I wanted was Brenton Graves to know how broke I was. “Not long.”

“You just fucking lied to me.”

Sweat beaded along my palms at the intensity in his statement. “What?”

“How long, Beks?”

“You can wait in the truck while I grab my stuff. Then we can run by Cavender’s. Out this way, no one knows about our past drama, so we’re okay going in together.”

“Answer my question. Now. And don't lie to me again or I'll whip your ass.”

On their own, my thighs clenched together in an attempt to relieve the rising throb his threat caused. “Last summer.”

When he didn't respond, I glanced his direction. His attention was focused out the windshield, staring at the blank landscape as he white-knuckled the door handle.

“It's fine. Better for the environment.” I shot him a wide smile, which he didn't notice. “Sorry, I'm sure you're not used to being uncomfortable. So fancy.”

Still no response.

Whatever. One-handed, I popped the Stevie Nicks tape in and turned up the sound. Halfway through the first song, me singing along word for word, Brenton broke his random pouting session.

“What the hell is this music?”

“Um, Stevie Nicks,” I said defensively.

“Who?”

“Stevie Nicks, lead singer of Fleetwood Mac who also went on to have an amazing solo career. You know, Stevie Nicks.”

“She sounds like a dying cat.”

“You sound like a dying cat.”

“What?” he said through a loud chuckle.

Ignoring his comment, I twisted the volume knob to the right and went right back to singing along with the fantastic rock star.

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