Page 124 of Hot Mess Express
It’s our joke now. Ever since I said it. I can never outrun the words I let fly outta my mouth in the past.
I come around the kitchen counter and right up to my love to place an energizing kiss on his lips.
It’s like a shot of espresso, how he lights right up. “Well, good morning to you, too,” he greets me with more energy, as if seeing me now for the first time.
I reach around and smack his ass. “Up and at ‘em, babe.” I jog to the door, then turn. “And if you keep up with me, maybe you’ll get some ofthiswhen we get back,” I tell him with a smack of my own ass.
His eyes drop down to my tight jogging shorts.
The growl that rumbles deep within him is all I need to hear.
Then I’m out the door to greet the sunrise, and not verymuch longer, Bridger’s right behind me.
The springtime air is crisp and downright breezy, making the perfect atmosphere for our bright and bushytailed asses to go jogging. We don’t go as early in the mornings as Bridger used to, since I’m not a damned vampire and like a little morning sun in my sky to guide me. As it turns out, he only went out before dawn to avoid people and to feel like he was all alone in the world, embracing the solitude and enjoying the valuable time for mental reflection and finding peace of mind. Now, he loves seeing people during his jogs. Like the Marvin brothers, who are opening their vegetable stands. Or the cheery-ass pair of employees at Patsy’s Pastries & Pies preparing the store for the day. And the old ladies from church who have started going on walks at Spruce Park, which Bridger swears he had nothing to do with, even though in all of my years in this town they’ve never done that before. They also stare at him at church every Sunday with what Bridger calls “happy eyes” and what I call “ladies who need to get laid”.
When we pass by the clinic, Marybeth is in the parking lot just getting out of her car when she waves eagerly at us, calling out, “Hey there, handsome boys!” then pretends to jog in place before letting out a giggle. “My, my, the two of you have commitment! Look at you, Anthony! So healthy! Have you lost weight since the last time I saw you?”
“Everywhere but my ass,” I call back at her.
“Tell me about it,” she sings at me with a smirk, then perks up when she remembers something. “Oh, Bridger, doll face, don’t you have a shift here in the afternoon? I’ll be seein’ you later on, right? Carla and I have someseriouslyjuicy gossip just for you.”
“Right after class, you bet,” he calls back enthusiastically, and the pair of us are on our way again, jog uninterrupted, Marybeth waving us off before heading up to the clinic.
“Gossip?” I ask, nudge him with my elbow as we jog on.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “You know her. Every story she or Carla tells is the biggest thing on earth. Last time she said that, it was because shesworethat Mayor Strong’s son divorced his husband in secret.”
“Wait, which son??”
“Tanner.”
“No fuckin’ way. Billy and Tanner—?”
“Nah, of course it wasn’t true. Just a rumor. How could it have happened? They literally just renewed their vows this past New Year’s, remember? Eight years strong. Those two are so in love, it’s sickening,” he says with half a laugh.
“Eight years …”
“Hey, you alright?”
I didn’t even notice I had stopped jogging. I gaze at Bridger, at the sweat gathered on his handsome face and how it makes his eyes look even brighter and bluer somehow. I love seeing all the confidence in his face whenever we jog, wearing the pride like a glow on his skin.
“Such a long time to be with someone. Eight years. How’d the pair of ‘em do it? Do you think Nadine pays them to stay together? Y’know, so she don’t look bad?”
Bridger, who I still can’t tell if he catches all my jokes or takes every damned thing I say seriously, slowly comes up to me. I see his face turn tender, like he’s debating kissing me right here.
“Hard work and patience,” he decides to answer.
“Hard work and—?” I blow air through my lips. “That ain’t a relationship. That’s a job. You do hard work and have patience to get promoted by your boss, not to sustain a relationship for eight long-ass years. I think they just have good sex.”
“Do we have good sex?” He takes another step toward me. My back is pressed against the window of whatever lucky storewe’re in front of. “I think we have some damned good sex.”
My heart’s galloping. I don’t think it’s because of the jog. “We sure asfuckdo.”
“I could see us having sex for eight more years. Don’t you?”
“Better be careful before I go bendin’ my horny self over that mailbox right there.”
Bridger grins as he wraps his arms around my back and pulls me into him for a kiss. There’s no damned way I’m resisting that, as I let myself turn into messy putty in his hands, our lips locked.
