Page 49 of Sexting the Cowboy
Do you have ten minutes today?Brick writes.
I stare at the words like they’re a trap and a present at the same time. The answer is yes. The answer is absolutely not. The answer is I don’t trust myself enough to stand near you in daylight and remember how to be sensible.
Maybe,I type.Why?
I want to see if you smile the same when it’s not an accident,he sends.
I press a palm to my sternum like that might keep my ribs from showing how open the door is. I type and erase three different responses before settling on the one that keeps me on my side of the line.
Later,I write.We’re slammed.
He sends back a single thumbs-up. Then, a second later,Be safe.
I lock the phone and put it away like it burned me. It didn’t. It warmed me through. That might be worse.
Thankfully, Jaden talks, and I let him. He is glad, truly glad, that this festival has gluten-free options, and he says it like he’s been waiting his whole life to be included on a menu.
“People act like it’s a fad,” he says, tossing his hands. “Like I woke up and chose wheat-based pain because it’s trendy. It makes me feel like a person instead of a problem.”
“You, Jaden Charles, could never be a problem. You’re the reason we found that sub shop that carries gluten-free sub rolls, which means you’re the reason I have a favorite sub shop, because they do the best version of my favorite sub I have ever had.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s double turkey, American cheese, mayo, lettuce on white. I’m pretty sure every sub shop can accommodate that.”
“But none as good as that one.”
Getting the simple things shouldn’t be hard. Food that doesn’t hurt you, work that doesn’t break you, a person who makes you forget the thick parts of your day. Maybe that’s the shape of this, at least for now.
Something simple, even if it’s complicated everywhere else.
“And I still can’t believe you’re a doctor and your order is so unhealthy.”
“It has vegetables!”
“It has lettuce. That hardly counts.”
I snort a laugh at him and breathe, finally. I let the noise wash over me and hold the secret in my pocket without squeezing it to death. I’m not ready to say his name out loud to anyone but the person who carries it. I’m not ready to tell the whole truth of how fast it’s going.
But I’m ready for more, and that’s the scariest part of all.
14
BRICK
Dinner smellslike takeout and pride.
Reno’s the one who suggested it—said he’d cook, then downgraded to “host,” which means ordering Italian from the place two blocks from the hotel and arranging it on paper plates like a presentation could pass for change. I said yes anyway, because a man saying, “Come to my place,” instead of, “Leave me alone,” is worth driving for.
We crowd into the little suite. It’s a decent place, a small mimic of Blaze’s room, but this one has a kitchenette. Blaze kicks her boots off at the door like she owns the room, Cash brings a six-pack of cream soda, and Levi unfolds himself into the desk chair with the practiced patience of a man who wants to believe this won’t end sideways.
Reno’s in rare form tonight. He’s sober, sharp, proud of it. He’s wearing a pressed shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar open, and his hair is brushed. He’s talking fast, the way you do when you want to fill the air before someone else can. “Got the good stuff,” he says, setting a foil pan of baked ziti in the middle of the table.
Blaze whistles low. “Fancy.”
“Don’t mock,” Reno says, but he’s smiling. “I even got salad. With real tomatoes.”
“Congratulations on discovering produce,” Levi deadpans.
Cash elbows him. “It’s good to see you, man.”
