Page 16 of Trusting Blake
There’s some more scuffling, and then Blake’s thick dark hair appears at the top of the wall, partly hidden beneath a baseball cap. He places his hands flat on the wall’s edge and effortlessly pulls himself up from his truck, balancing precariously at full height.
“Didn’t take you long to want to get out of here, huh?” he teases, arching a brow.
“Please just get me out of here before anyone notices,” I urge.
“Come on up.”
My shoulder bag swinging at my side, I grab hold of the ladder and climb the few steps toward Blake. When I can’t get much farther, balanced on the final rung and my hands gripping the top of the wall, Blake crouches down and smiles at me from inches away.
“Do you need assistance, Miss Mila?”
I give him a heavy look, unimpressed, and stick my hand out to him. With a breathy laugh, Blake slips his hand into mine and squeezes tight. I can feel the callouses on his fingertips from too much guitar strumming, but his skin is warm, and his grip is strong as he hauls me from the ladder onto the wall next to him. He keeps his hand locked around mine.
“Thanks,” I say softly, gazing at our hands.
Blake skims his thumb over the back of my hand and lands a quick kiss in my hair. “Now let’s go have some fun.”
On the other side of the wall, his truck is parked as close as possible, his passenger-side mirror practically touching the stone. It makes it easier to slip down onto the truck’s roof. Blake nonchalantly leaps off the wall and onto the roof as though he’s some sort of parkour kid who does this all the time, then looks back up at me.
“Sit down,” he instructs.
I do as he says, sitting on the stone wall and dangling my legs over the edge. Freedom awaits. And right now, I don’t care about any punishment.
I’m glancing back over my shoulder one last time, but my gaze is drawn back to Blake when, out of nowhere, he clasps his hands around my waist. My mouth forms a surprised “O”, and as though I’m weightless, Blake guides me down off the wall and onto the roof next to him. We are pressed close to one another, his hands resting on my hips, and I realize I’m holding my damn breath.
And clearly Blake notices, because he smirks. “Still nervous, huh?”
I gently whack his arm and push him back from me. He justlovesthe effect he has on me, the smug little ego-head. But I can’t deny that I enjoy it, too.
I climb down onto the truck bed, then swing over the tailgate and down onto the trodden, overgrown grass of the field on the other side of the wall. I’m pretty certain this land once belonged to Popeye, but I have no idea who currently owns it, only that the land here is unused. Moving around to the driver’s side of the truck, I jolt at the sudden flash of golden fur from inside.
“You brought Bailey!” I gasp excitedly, throwing open the door and sticking my head inside, only to be smothered in slobbery kisses. I rake my hands through his soft puppy coat, burying my face into his furry neck and giggling at how ticklish it feels when he licks my ears.
“Of course I did,” Blake says from behind me, nudging me forward eagerly. “If a puppy can’t cheer you up, then what the hell can? Now get in!”
“Aww, c’mon, Bailey!” I coo in the shrillest baby-talk voice ever. I wrestle with him to shove him farther back into the truck so that I can clamber in and over the center console into the passenger seat, and before I know it, Blake is buckled in next to me and Bailey sits joyfully on my lap with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
Blake rolls down my window for Bailey to stick his head out. “So, I hope you don’t mind, but I have a plan.”
“Oh?” I say, my tone piqued with curiosity.
“We’re swinging down the street to pick up Savannah and Myles,” he explains, his attention laser-focused over Bailey to the side mirror as he maneuvers the truck away from the wall. “And Tori spent the night there last night, so she’s coming too. They’re all worried about you, and we all want to do something fun to keep your mind off things. I thought you’d like to have them around too, but if you’re not ready to see them yet, just tell me and I’ll call them right now and cancel, okay?”
My heart flutters a little. For as much as I believed Blake to be a complete pompous jerk when I met him at the tailgate party when I first arrived in Tennessee, he has proven me so wrong. He can be so sweet and considerate sometimes, and already I feel like a weight has been lifted from me just being around him.
“No, that’s a great idea,” I reassure him, and I untangle my hand from Bailey’s fur and place it over Blake’s instead where it rests on the gear selector. “Thank you.”
Blake visibly relaxes and drives one-handed, keeping his other beneath mine, and the truck bumps and weaves its way across the uneven ground. We head through the field, back toward the road, and I realize we’ll need to drive by the Harding Estate’s entrance to get to the Willowbank ranch down the street where Savannah and Myles live. While I have heard the voices from over the walls, I haven’t actually seen the commotion with my own eyes.
“Is it bad?” I ask, biting down hard on my lower lip. “Outside the gate.”
“Worse than yesterday,” says Blake. “You’ll see in a second.”
And as we pull out of the field and turn the corner of the ranch’s walls onto the road, I feel nauseous at the sight of all the abandoned vehicles dumped up on the edge of the road. Poor Popeye, having his ranch surrounded like this. . . And the neighbors. God, they won’t be happy at such disruption to their usual peaceful solitude. The closer we get to the gate, the more it sinks in just how crazy a life Dad lives – and expects us, his family, to live too.
The gate is surrounded. Tents are set up, filming equipment from the local news stations lines the edge of the road, and paparazzi mingle around in small huddles, cameras slung over their shoulders, waiting for the precise moment the gate opens. There’s plenty going on, but it’s all very calm right now. Individuals engaging in small talk, reporters keying vigorously into cellphones. . . But the second they hear the buzz of that gate opening, all hell will break loose. They’ll be fighting for the prime spot, shoving each other out of the way to snap the most sensational photos, yelling inappropriate questions, banging on car windows.
And at the sound of Blake’s truck approaching, a few of the paparazzi glance up and move to clear the road. Blake gives me a sideways glance. “Should you hide?”
