Page 65 of South of The Skyway

She took a leisurely step forward, twisting her hips and seeming contemplative. The flicker of the nearest torch cast dancing shadows across her face. Playing in her long blonde hair. Fuck, she was stunning.

“You burying evidence out here or something?”

“Nah, we’d just feed it to the pigs.”

“Obviously.”

“What do you take me for, an amateur?”

“My mistake,” she said, her smile teasing the corner of her lips, raising her hands in mock defense. She wore form-fitting black shorts, miles of tan legs leading to stylish ankle boots, and a light blue button-up that cinched at the elbows and tied at the waist. It was nearly the color of her eyes and dipped low enough to show off her generous cleavage. My palms tingled, a need igniting with one look at those sinful little curves. Fuck, I could remember what those perfect handfuls felt like. My gaze dipped lower, mouth-watering as arousal gripped the base of my spine. The tangy memory of her cunt on my tongue had me growing hard in a heartbeat. I jerked my eyes up to her face, trying to focus.

If she’d driven an hour to see me, it was highly unlikely it was just for my dick. As much as I’d like to feel her slide onto it, lean down and suck a rosy nipple—

“But for real, whatcha working on?”

Jesus, Rhyett, get a hold of yourself.I cleared my throat. “Covered floating wood patio, hot tub surround, grill station combo.”

Brexley’s nervous laugh was a balm to my panic. “Hold up, say that again.”

“I’m not a man of many words, so let me show you. Come in?” I jerked my head towards the trailer. “Humble beginnings, but they’re all mine.” Honestly, the rig was as nice as any apartment I’d lived in. However, people who didn’t grow up in my family, or who didn’t grow up traveling incessantly, tended to fall into old stereotypes. We’d been called every slur in the book, our favorite being trailer trash, of course. Little did Judgy McJudgersons know that Milo’s net worth was likely triple what most men his age would make in a lifetime. It was the experience they wanted for their kids. The feeling of the wind on our faces and pavement below rolling tires. The freedom of an open road as it rushed towards a pale blue sky, the sun beating on our skin through the windows and calling every city we parked in our home. We’d grown up with the blessings of a consistent place to return to, and learned history in real time as we clocked miles on our vehicles. Embraced minimalism so often on the boat that this little rig felt spacious, even to me now. It was a blessing to be expanding that vision, bringing my mother’s dreams to long-fought-for fruition.

That knowledge didn’t stop me from needing to check my ego as this bombshell’s gaze flicked back to the camper. Resonating with our family was a bit make-or-break for anyone poking around. It was a pretty quick yay or nay in the dating department. Brexley’s warm eyes landed back on my face, only friendly nerves and curiosity coloring her cheeks.

“I’d like that. I brought you a trailer-warming gift!” Her exclamation was accompanied by an eager twist as she pulled her messenger bag around the side. Pulled out a bottle of red. “I figure a bottle takes about three hours to finish, in the right company.”

Two nights with the woman,and I had been reduced to a pubescent boy hiding in the shower, debating on taking the edge off in case she was wanting. I assumed she was wanting. She’d set the terms of our little arrangement and then showed up unannounced an hour after sundown. That’s what friends with benefits did when they had needs to fill, right? I couldn’t have been sure because I’d never done the whole long-term friends with benefits thing. The few women I’d fooled around with whom I’d already been well acquainted had gone about their merry lives after a handful of orgasms.

Nobody had ever come back before.

Just Brexley.

Ducking beneath the shower stream again, I did a good ol’ sniff test, making sure I no longer smelled like the hogs, then jumped out to towel off. Trying to slow my brain down, I slipped into gray sweatpants and turned to the mirror as I ran my fingers through my hair and took a steadying breath.

She looked exquisite. My mind’s eye had photographed her perfectly, elegant fingers wrapped around the base of her glass, the stem settled between them. It was pink and glittery, yet the plastic margarita cup somehow didn’t detract from the overall wow factor of Brexley Snows standing in my kitchen looking at my sketches.

She’d laughed when I pulled it out of the cabinet, her raised brows all I needed to supply, “Mom’s fiftieth birthday was margarita themed.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Mr. Rhodes.” That breathy, amused voice had been on a loop in my head since.

With a lungful of courage, I ventured out past the sliding door that clunked into place behind me. Everything was loud in RV life. Everything. The rollers on the door, the magnet that caught it at the end. The creak of the stairs. With her here, I was suddenly painfully aware of all the otherwise inconsequential noises.

Brexley had since abandoned her pink cup to the Formica island and was bracing her jaw on an open palm. Her eyes flicked up to me when the second step creaked, and she gulped.

“Rhyett. I don’t know what to say. These are incredible.”

I shrugged. “They’re just rough sketches.”

“These arereallygood,” she repeated, emphasizing her point before returning to the sheet in front of her. Almost begrudgingly, she mumbled, “Likeprofessionalgood.”

“Well, thanks.” Trying not to peacock at her praise, I ran my palm over my stubble. Watched her study as I stepped around the counter. I scooped up my wine, settling my hand on her low back and peering over her shoulder. My hum of approval earned her attention, and I smiled, leaning forward to tap the idyllic sketch. “That one is for back home.” Brex craned her neck to look up at me, lips parting softly. Her attention made it infinitely harder to stay focused, but I continued, “We need a nice park downtown, a little gazebo for shade and events. It would make it look like a postcard down there.”

“So thoughtful,” she breathed against my lips, her gaze tracing mine before she cleared her throat with a shake of her head. Refocused on the task at hand, she turned over to a new page and I did my best not to wince. Despite my best efforts, I could be sentimental, although this story wasn’t necessarily mine to tell. Brexley’s breath came in a long, sympathetic drag, and she leaned into me as she looked at the little lion sketched into stone.

“That one, uh—that was for my nephew’s memorial.”

Horrorstruck baby blues glanced back up to me, her mouth popping open. “Oh, Rhyett, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have kept looking. I didn’t mean to snoop on something so—”

Her fingers had started shaking against the edge of the page and I reached out, smoothing my palm over her hand and hooking my fingers through hers.

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