Rough Ride: A Small Town Bad Boy Romance

She looks breathtaking, and I keep stealing glances at her from the driver’s seat. She might be excited, but I’m a nervous wreck on the inside. My nerves are shot, and they have been for days. Either I’ve done a bang-up job of hiding it, or Izzy just hasn’t noticed. Maybe she just has and hasn’t said anything.

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Not a chance.” I reach across the console, pulling one of her hands away from the travel mug to entwine it with mine. The warmth from the mug has seeped into her palm. “We’re almost there.”

It’s only a few-minute drive, and we’re barely on the outer limits of town, but it seems like it takes me forever to drive there. I’ve driven on this road for years, since I was old enough to drive. Hell, Izzy and I used to burn up the gas in the old Ford Ranger I used to drive, spraying gravel and squealing tires out here where no one would complain. There are only a handful of houses, but the houses are newer, more modern. And more pricey, since they’re considered the “new part” of Brooksville.

I pull the truck over to the side of the road and kill the engine. This section of the road only has trees lining it on both sides, and the foliage is thick and full, blocking out the sun and creating kaleidoscopic patterns of shadows and light across the gravel.

“What are we doing out here?” Izzy looks around. “It’s not really secluded enough to have sex in your truck, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “Christ, Izzy, you’re relentless. But, I do like the way you think. C’mon, walk with me.”

We climb out of the truck, and I wait in front of it for her, taking her hand in mine before crunching across the gravel and scattered fallen leaves. “Must you always think about sex?” I ask her with a wry grin.

“Oh, you’re a fine one to talk.” She takes a sip from the mug she brought with her to hide her amusement.

“Good point.” I can’t deny it. If I’m not buried inside Izzy, kissing her, touching her, then I’m thinking about it. I’ve never tried to hide that fact. “Can you do me a favor and think about something else with me for a few minutes?”

She turns to me but doesn’t stop walking. Her brows arch high on her forehead. “What else do you want me to think about?” she asks coyly.

“Our future.” I give her hand a tight squeeze. “What you want. Where you want to be.”

“With you,” she says simply, no hesitation. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

A wave of intense heat rolls through me. This woman can set my emotions on fire with only a few words. “I was hoping you’d say that.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles tenderly. I stop walking, which forces her to as well. “What about Brooksville?”

She’s watching my lips graze the back of her hand like the sight is somehow intoxicating. “If you’re in Brooksville, that’s where I want to be.”

“I was hoping you’d say that, too.”

“Why?” she chuckles. “Why all the questions?”

“Because I love you, Isabelle.” I place one hand gently on her back and guide her to turn her gaze to the house that’s behind her. “And because I bought that.”

Izzy turns around to face the house I’m referring to, a large split-level rancher with an attached two-car garage. White brick exterior, a lush yard, and a white fence outlining the perimeter of the property.

“You...bought Sheriff Atkin’s house?” She sounds incredulous. “But it wasn’t for sale.”

Sheriff Atkin has been retired for almost twenty years, but there’s no one in Brooksville that doesn’t refer to him as the sheriff. “He’s moving closer to his daughter in Kansas, Izzy. I bought the place privately from him. Signed the paperwork yesterday morning when I said I was running over to Mom and Dad’s house.”

She stares at the house as though seeing it for the first time. “You bought Sheriff Atkin’s place,” she repeats, her gaze never wavering from it. “But...why?”

“Years ago, you told me that house was the kind of house you wanted to have someday. And, years after that, I told you I would build you the life you deserve, Izzy. Just because you didn’t get that text, and just because it took me longer than I thought it would, that doesn’t make it any less true. I meant it, Izzy. I want this to be our place. Our own piece of Brooksville.”

“You want me to live there—” She points to the house. “With you.”

Her dumbfounded expression and repetitiveness is stirring up fear within me. I’m wondering if I misread the signals. “I’d love nothing more,” I tell her. I breathe out heavily. “Jesus, Izzy, please tell me what you’re thinking.”

She stares at the house for a few beats longer, then slowly turns to face me. Her eyes are bright. “It’s perfect,” she says finally, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect,” she adds, laughing as a stray tear splashes onto her cheek.

“Oh, Izzy, don’t cry.” I hug her close to me, forehead to forehead, reaching up to wipe the tear away. “Is it really what you want? I’m beginning to wonder if I overstepped.”

She laughs again, a choked sound. “It’s amazing, Jace. I mean that. It’s more than I’ve ever wanted, more than I’ve dreamed of. You know damn well I’ve fawned over that house since we were kids. It was perfect then, and it’s perfect now. I’m just getting all emotional and insane.” She chuckles again, a sound mixed with more tears that have started to fall. “You didn’t overstep, I swear.”

“So, you still love me, and you want to do this crazy thing called life with me from here on in?”

Despite the lackluster way I’ve phrased it, I can tell she hears the seriousness in what I’m asking, and it brings her up short. “What? Of course, baby. You know I do.”