Say You'll Be Nine

We kissed and kissed until I felt him grab my ass and pull our hips together. Suddenly, I remembered the cameras in the trees. I peeled my lips off his. “Inside. Shower. Date. Let’s go.”

Nine froze. His eyes opened wide. “Date?”

I couldn’t decide if he was a deer who’d be easily spooked by an affirmative answer or if he was an eager child, too hopeful to disappoint with a negative one.

“I… uh… Do you want it to be a date?”

He glanced down at my chin and seemed to take a second to think about it. “Kinda. I mean, yeah. I do.” He glanced back up at my eyes. “If you do. If not, that’s—”

“I do.”

His entire face relaxed. “Yeah, good. I mean… we can video it and stuff too. Since we’re boyfriends anyway.”

Even though I knew he meant fake boyfriends for the show, it still made my heart thunk funny in my chest which was happening more and more around him these days.

I leaned in and kissed him again before pushing away and smacking him on the ass. “Go shower so we can hit the road. I already loaded that propane tank in the back of the truck and found a place that can refill it for us.”

He flashed me a thumbs-up and jogged across the clearing to the RV at the same time my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Jacks.

“Hey, how’re you feeling?”

“Ugh, stop asking me that. It’s all anyone wants to know anymore.” He sounded healthy, so that was good.

“Fine, sorry. How’s work? How’s Mom?”

“All good. The people at her work got together and gave her a gift card to a massage place, so that was really sweet. She’s going on Saturday. I’m going to get her one for the nail place next door so she can have a little spa day.”

“That’s a great idea. I can send you some money to chip in too.”

“It’s fine. Tips at the bakery have been good. You’ll laugh at this. Marchie spilled blueberry syrup all over his uniform shirt one day last week and had to wear one of mine which is two sizes smaller. That day our tips were insane. So I told him he should wear it again to test my theory that it was the shirt. Sure enough.” Jacks’s laughter was contagious. “The man has killer pecs, and that shirt clung to every muscle on his body. You should have seen the people drooling.”

Jackson’s best friend was a little bit like Nine. He looked big and tough but was really a teddy bear once you got to know him. “That’s pretty funny.”

“Yeah, sooo… speaking of pecs… things seem to be going well with you and the lumberjack.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Tell me.”

I glanced back toward the RV. The door was still safely closed against prying ears. “We hooked up.”

His screech damn near burst my ear drum. “No shit!”

“Shhhh. Jesus. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Not okay. You are publicly in a relationship with him. Of course I can tell people. Don’t be an idiot.”

Leave it to a brother to speak bluntly. “Fine, but you know what I mean.”

Jacks made a sound like he was taking a sip of something before continuing. “I do. So, is this just an experiment thing, or…?”

I ran fingers through my hair and scratched at the back of my neck. “I don’t think so?”

“Do you like him like that, or is it just a hookup thing?”

My eyes stayed riveted on the RV door. “Um… the first one?”

He paused for a beat. “Damn, bro. I’m not sure I’ve heard you this unsure since you were trying to decide whether or not to head out to LA.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really see how it could work out, you know?”

I heard Marchie’s voice in the background and Jacks’s muffled response to whatever it was he’d asked. He came back on the line. “Why not?”

“If you need to get back to work, we can catch up another time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I called you. March just needed to know something about a catering order. It’s fine.”

I thought through the reasons why I couldn’t picture a long-term relationship with Nine. “Well, for one, he’s a home boy.”

“Says the guy who hates to leave his apartment.”

“No. I mean, he’s a hometown boy. I don’t think he’ll ever leave Wheatland, Wyoming, and I sure as hell can’t live there with all those old-fashioned homophobes all up in our business.”

“Have you asked him if that’s how he really feels?”

I blew out a nervous laugh. “Of course not. Besides, he bugs the hell out of me. Sometimes he barely speaks, and even if I ask him a direct question, he answers with a grunt like some kind of caveman.”

“Mm. Sounds hot.”

I laughed. “Shut up.”

“Does he like you as more than a hookup?”

“Probably not. I drive him even crazier than he does me. I talk too much. I’m prissy and scared of bugs. I don’t know the difference between a Phillips and flathead.”