Page 89 of The Wild Card
“Well, you said you didn’t need help getting up here. So, go on, git.”
I laugh, though if anyone else saidgo on, gitto me like I’m some kind of farm animal being wrangled into a pasture, I’d be mortally offended. The idea of Collin lifting me up doesn’t sound so bad, actually, but because I have no small need to prove myself capable, I place one foot up onto the oversized tire and manage to hoist myself onto the hood.
Mostly.
“Okay,” I say with a giggle as I lose my footing and end up pancaked halfway on the hood with my legs dangling uselessly behind me. “I might need a little bit of a boost.”
“Um,” Collin says from behind me as I try to wiggle my way further onto his truck. Without a good handhold—the windshield wipers are the only thing I can see to grab and I’m afraid I’d yank one right off—I’m not making much progress. “I don’t really know the best way to do this.”
“Just give me a good shove,” I tell him.
He does. Grabbing me by the upper thighs, he propels me up and forward so fast I barely have time to register the grip of his hands. The blanket moves with me, and I zip right across the hood with a squeal.
Just before I take a nosedive off the other side, Collin catches me by the ankles and stops my forward progress.
Good thing, too, because my face hangs over the edge, staring down at the gravel road. Not a place you want to fall headfirst. Collin pulls me back and gives my ankles a squeeze before letting me go.
A little too quickly if you ask me.
“Sorry!” he says. “I didn’t mean to launch you.”
“It’s fine. You clearly don’t know your own strength.” I roll over, sitting up just in time to see Collin flatten one palm on thehood, push off that one arm, and swing himself up on the truck like some kind of action movie star. “Show off,” I add.
His grin is half-cocky and half-teasing. “I’m not showing off—I just don’t know my own strength.”
Together we straighten the blanket as much as possible while we’re both on top of it, then settle back against the windshield. The pillows behind us make it surprisingly comfortable and we end up side by side, arms and thighs touching, faces tipped toward a sky pricked with stars. I don’t know what kind of insects we’re hearing, but I’m suddenly aware of their sounds—a muted, simmering symphony of mood music.
A comfortable quiet settles between us, and I almost relax into the moment.
But then, of course, my overactive brain quickly spirals. I want to know if Collin still wants topractice. I thought that’s why we were coming out here—so our first kiss wouldn’t be in the bathroom.
I want to ask if we could just forget about the whole faking thing and the idea of practicing and just date, just kiss. For real.
I can’t help but think about where our arms are touching and how close our hands are and what Collin might do if I just reached over and laced our fingers together.
I’m too much of a coward to find out, but I do inch my hand slightly closer to his until our pinkies are just barely brushing.
And then, because my still-spiraling thoughts are paranoid that Collin will notice and see through my not-so-subtle move, I blurt out a question.
“Are you excited about Winnie and James’s surprise wedding?”
He lifts his chin, searching the sky for stars. “I am.”
“But?”
For a long moment, he’s quiet. Thinking. Then, he turns to meet my gaze. “I’ve been envious of both of my brothers’ relationships. How happy they are. It’s an ugly thing, being happy for them both but also … jealous.”
I’m surprised by his honesty. But I appreciate it.
I lean closer, wiggling until he slides an arm under my neck. Sighing, I drop my head on his shoulder. I can’t meet his gaze like this, but I like the warm comfort of his shoulder under my cheek. “I’ve often felt jealous of Chase.”
I don’t tell him that it’s about more than just his relationship with Harper. It’s all of it—moving away, starting over, escaping our dad. I should tell Collin. I almost have on several occasions. But I still find myself holding back.
Instead, I say, “So, do you come here often?”
Only when Collin laughs do I realize how it sounded. “Oh, my gosh—I didn’t mean it like a pick-up line!”
“You sure about that?”
