Page 32 of Trusting Blake
We hightail it to the truck, the engine already running, and with the screeching of tires and a plume of exhaust smoke trailing behind us, Blake stomps on the gas pedal. We tear down the country road so fast no one even tries to chase after us.
Terrified, I scramble to secure my seatbelt, one hand pressed to the dashboard. “Why did you. . . Why did you just do that?” I gasp.
It’s the one major rule: never, ever,everlay a hand on the paparazzi. But Blake isn’t a part of Dad’s crazy world. He acted to defend me. He doesn’t know the rules.
Still, Blake has gone a shade paler, seemingly in shock at his own actions. He stares wide-eyed ahead at the road as he drives beyond the speed limit. “I don’t even know. That guy was grabbing you, I didn’t even think, and I just. . . Damnit!” He smacks his hand against the steering wheel.
I push my sunglasses up into my hair and place my hand on Blake’s thigh. He’s panicking over the potentially severe consequences of his lack of temper control, and although I know heshouldbe worried, I also want to put him at ease. After all, hedidjust punch a stranger in the face for me. “Honestly?” I say. “I’m just jealous I didn’t do it myself.”
Blake gives me a sidelong glance, his lips gradually curving into a smirk. “Well, you made it out of there. Now you’re all mine.”
“I’ve missed you these past few days,” I admit softly. It’s so nice to be back in his truck, next to him, watching the rays of sunlight dance across the dimples in his cheeks, and already the stress of my family drama is melting away. “I told my dad about you after church on Sunday, and he waspissed. He took my phone, so that’s why I’ve been off the radar. But I’m so glad I’m with you now.”
I don’t know what possesses me to make such a bold move, especially considering it’s a move I have never once made in my teenage life so far, but I grip Blake’s thigh a little harder. Slide my hand a little higher.
Blake’s quad muscle tenses beneath his jeans and his breath hitches in his throat. “Mila. . . can you not do that?” he says with an audible gulp. “I mean, while I’m driving. Not never.”
My hand creeps ever closer. I lean over the center console and gaze up at him. In a low whisper, I tease, “Blake. . . are younervous?”
And oh, how amazing it feels to have all the power for once. Even though I’m blushing too.
Blake laughs and grabs my hand from his thigh. He closes the short distance between us, pressing his lips quickly against mine, then interlocks our fingers as he focuses back on the road, easing off the gas pedal. “I hope you don’t expect Nashville today,” he says, “because some of the guys are over at my place, so I’m taking you home with me.”
“Is your mom—?”
“Going to kill me? Probably,” Blake finishes. “But yeah, she’s at home. Don’t worry about it, though. We don’t care what our parents think, remember?”
“If I did,” I say, “I wouldn’t be here with you.”
13
Parking in front of Blake’s house fills me with a sense of unease. It was exactly a week ago when I arrived here, full of anticipation, all giddy and happy to hang out with him, but instead got hit with the shattering news of Dad’s affair. I ran from this driveway with tears burning in my eyes.
LeAnne’s Tesla is sparkling clean and there’s a pressure washer and buckets of soapy water at the top of the drive. There’s also an old beat-up truck parked out on the road, one I recognize from the tailgate party last month. I think it belongs to Blake’s friend Barney.
“I’d just finished Mom’s car when you called,” says Blake. “I still need to wash mine.”
We hop out of the truck, sneak in a quick kiss, and then head around into the backyard. Barney is sprawled out on a sun lounger on the patio, shirtless and trying to catch a tan while tossing a football in the air. Myles is here too, wrestling a rogue stick from Bailey’s mouth. Bailey drops it the second he spots Blake and me coming through the gate.
“Hey, Bails!” I call, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve shortened Bailey’s name. Just like Blake does. “Come see me!”
Bailey barrels over to us, but I am no longer a new and thrilling stranger to him, so thankfully, he doesn’t knock me to the ground again. He calmly nudges his nose into my leg while I scratch the back of his ears, and his fur is warm from the sun.
“Myles,” Barney hisses. “There’s a girl here now, so you better stop moaning about your genital warts. It’s disgusting.”
“Ha,” Myles deadpans, firing Barney a look. “You better stop whining about your intact virginity before you embarrass yourself in front of Mila.”
Blake rubs his hand over his face and lets out a sigh. He glances sideways at me as I stroke Bailey, an amused smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah, this is what it means to hang out with the guys,” he says with a nervous laugh.
“You don’t mind me intruding?” I ask. Blake seems to have dropped everything he was doing to rush across town to pick me up, and I wonder if he’ll ever know how much I appreciate it. It feels nice to be put first.
“As long as you don’t mind helping me clean the truck,” Blake responds with a wink, and I think how I’d clean a whole parking lot of trucks if it meant hanging out with him.
“Hey, Mila,” Barney calls, sitting up on his sun lounger. He pulls his shirt back on. “Everyone’s been talking about how wild things are over at your place. You think you could sneak me in to get your dad’s autograph? A couple hundred of them? And then I can flip them on eBay for some cash to buy new tires.” He grins, cocky as ever.
“C’mon, Barney,” Blake warns with a stern shake of his head. “Don’t joke around. Thingsarewild over there.”
“Yeah,” I say, giving Bailey one final pat on the head. “Blake just hit a photographer.”
