Page 10 of Pretty Ruthless

Claire

My heart feels like it’s in my throat as I approach the freshly painted midnight blue Chevy pickup. The truck was my grandpa’s when I was a kid and Dawson and I spent months getting her fixed up for his sixteenth birthday. When I get closer I notice that the old worn leather seat has been reupholstered and the cracked dash replaced with a shiny black one.

“Hop in,” Dawson says as he unlocks the door with his key. The rain is starting to come down heavier as he reaches over to unlock the passenger door for me. I push my thumb against the handle and the door breaks free, I grab the top handle and lift myself up into the seat.

“What do you think?” He asks, the smile on his handsome face beams with pride.

“It looks the exact same, just better.” I say as I run my fingertips against the leather of the seat.

“I could say the same about you,” he says and the smile he gives me makes me mushy, “you look really good Claire, the same but better.”

My cheeks heat at his compliment, “thank you, you look good too.”

“I know, I saw you checkin’ me out earlier.” He says with a wink and I roll my eyes.

“You had grease on your butt.” I say trying to dissuade the fact that I was absolutely checking him out.

“Uh huh,” he says with a smirk as he puts the key into the ignition, the truck jars and then rumbles to life.

“Where are we going?” I ask, changing the subject from the fact that his ass is so taut you could pop a quarter off of it and get fifty cents back.

“Secret. Just enjoy the ride,” he grabs the gear shift on the column and drops the truck in drive. I watch him as he maneuvers us out of the parking lot and onto Main Street.

“How long are you in town for?” He asks as we pass shops that I’ve never seen before. A corner building that used to hold a soda fountain shop when we were kids sits vacant with a for rent sign in the window. I make a mental note to check into the property before I leave. Leave, yes, he asked you a question dumbass.

“Oh, um, I’m here until Monday. I have a flight to catch early Tuesday morning.” I say and immediately feel the need to check my phone. I open the side zipper of my bag and reach inside but come up empty, huh. I open the main compartment of my purse and I don’t see my phone anywhere.

“Lose somethin’?” Dawson asks as the road starts to narrow and the buildings and houses become sparse.

“I can’t find my phone.” I sigh heavily. I always have my phone, it’s basically another hand connected to my wrist.

“Do you need it?” He asks curiously.

“Reed was supposed to call me about the design I was working on and Elena probably called me half a dozen times.” I laugh lightly to myself imagining her face when she got my voicemail, she never gets my voicemail. My internal panic over my phone is halted by the look on Dawson’s face.

“Who’s Reed?” Dawson asks and his tone isn’t sweet, is that jealousy I hear?

“Reed is the marketing vice president for Bloom.” I answer, he looks over at me waiting for me to go on. “And he and his husband are looking to adopt a baby. Should I put you down as adoptable?” I waggle my eyebrows at him with a smile.

“I am totally up for adoption,” he laughs and the sound fills the cab of the truck. There’s a gigantic elephant in the cab of this truck but I don’t think either one of us wants to address it right now.

“So work’s good then?” He asks, training his eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” I say with a sigh leaning back into the seat, “it’s amazing and crazy and so unbelievably lonely.” Wait, what the fuck? That is not what I meant to say. “I mean busy. It’s unbelievably busy.” I correct, I clear my throat and look over at him, “the garage? It’s going good?”

“Yeah, it’s really…busy,” he answers but I don’t think he actually means busy.

“Can I ask you something?” He says as he flicks the blinker of the truck to turn onto a dirt road.

“Sure,” I nod. I have nothing to hide and whatever question he has for me I’ll answer honestly, I owe him that much after everything I’ve put him through.

He exhales loudly and his grip on the steering wheel tightens, I watch as the veins in his forearm protrude from the skin. Why is that so sexy?

“Did you ever think about me? Have you thought about me?” He asks and the vulnerability in his tone makes me want to pull him into me and squeeze him until all the brokenness between us shifts back into place like a puzzle.

“Short answer, yes,” I answer, honestly.

“Long answer?” He asks, tilting his head to look at me.

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