Playing with Fire

“Get outta that head, Texas. Nothing good is going on there right now.” The wind blurred his words. Fortunately, he rode slow enough that I could hear anything at all.

“If only I’d noticed the date, Grams would be home and safe,” I murmured into his helmet. I was engulfed by his scent. Male and soap and sweet, heady danger.

I could get lost in that smell if I let myself. I wondered if that was how Grams felt about Grandpa Freddie. If his presence got her deliriously drunk with euphoria.

“Are you always so hard on yourself? Don’t answer only on days that end with a y.”

“It’s my job to take care of her. She raised me.”

“You can take care of someone without blaming yourself for all their problems.”

“Clearly, you’ve never taken care of someone.”

“Clearly, you’re talking out of your ass,” West countered, his voice turning arctic and biting. I’d obviously hit a nerve.

“My ass still makes more sense than your mouth,” I ground out.

And just like that, he was back to laughing at my outrageousness. The fact I talked back to him.

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart, but it’s a great ass, so I enjoy listening.”

He was so different from what I expected. Like he tucked his fun, lighthearted personality somewhere people couldn’t find it to keep them at arm’s length.

“Back it up, cowboy. If that’s why you’re helpin’ me, you can drop me here and turn back around. I’m not that type of girl.”

“What type would that be?” His tone turned sultry, taunting.

“The type to find herself beneath you because you gave her a crumb of your attention.”

“On top of me works, too.”

“Keep this up, and the only weight you’ll be feeling is my pickup over your body.”

“I’m playing, Texas. I’d never hit on you. I don’t mix business with pleasure. Besides, I don’t stick around beyond one hookup, and no offense, but you seem like a lot of work. This is a pure, altruistic favor I’m doing for a friend.”

There it was again. Friend. It was the second time he’d called me that.

“It is?”

“Scout’s honor. I don’t expect anything back, other than your endless admiration.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

I knew enough about West to gather he wasn’t the sweet and helpful type, and this had nothing to do with the rumors. He was a sour-faced caveman on campus.

“Nice is a big word.” We were edging closer to the intersection that had been blocked. I looked left and right, frantically trying to spot Grams. “I’m just not a complete piece of shit to you. Guess it throws you off-kilter.”

“People aren’t shitty to me,” I protested.

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

“If you’re talkin’ about Reign and the girls you were with the other night, it’s on them, not on me.”

“It’s on them that they’re assholes. It’s on you that you roll over and play dead.”

“I don’t remember you bein’ so cordial either.”

“No,” he agreed, not a trace of apology in his voice. “Next time, you have my permission to pour slushie over my head and kick Reign in the nuts.”

I was about to answer him when I spotted Grams. She was hard to miss, in her full, blue and red sequined evening gown, bright pink lipstick, and heels.

She had her hair fluffed and sprayed—the higher the hair, the closer to God—and she was holding the little clutch she carried to church every Sunday back when we still went. She crossed the road, on her way to the diner.

“Stop!” I shrieked.

He did, coming to a halt without slowing down. Mud sprayed around us, and I lurched forward, my chest colliding with his back. West snaked an arm around me awkwardly, catching me by the waist.

“Found her,” I said breathlessly, dismounting from the bike. My legs were shaking. “Thank you. She’s the one in the Diana Ross gown across the street. I’ll get her home right away.” I took the helmet off, knowing I must’ve left traces of foundation inside it, and planted it in his hands. I screwed my ball cap back on my head. “Have a good night now, West.”

I ran across the road, nearly tackling Grams to the ground. She spun slowly at the thuds of my feet, the smile on her face collapsing into a frown when she spotted my approaching figure.

“Well, I’ll be damned. What are ya doin’ here, Gracie-Mae? You should be in bed. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

Grams swatted her purse against her thigh. Her forehead was damp from the long walk on the dirt road, her shoes caked with mud.

How old does she think I am?

“Just wanted to tag along.” I came to a halt, an angelic smile plastered on my face.

“Sugar, I’ve got a date with your grandpa. Can’t we do somethin’ tomorrow?”

I shook my head violently. The smile on my face was as painful as a wound and just as tight. She thought Grandpa was still alive.