Good Girl (Love Unexpectedly 2)

A Tennessee girl, then. Perhaps that explains her comfort with trucks. Somehow I can’t see her picking that up in L.A.

“How’d you end up in California?” I ask.

She sighs and rubs Dolly’s head. “Great question. I got a little…creatively blocked. My team suggested that a change of scenery might be good. I don’t think they were wrong, but it was the wrong scenery.”

“And Louisiana’s the right one?” I ask skeptically.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“We won’t be doing anything.”

She rolls her eyes. “Calm down—it was a figure of speech. Believe it or not, I’ve got absolutely zero interest in seducing you out of your whole rugged-bachelor routine.”

“Why, only interested in the married guys?”

Ah, fuck. I didn’t mean to say it, but…there it is. Out there.

She says nothing, although she’s stopped petting her dog. Her hand curls into a fist near her hip as she stares straight ahead.

I clear my throat. “Hey—”

Jenny shakes her head. “Let’s not talk, ‘kay?”

She leans forward and punches on the radio. It’s tuned to country, this being Finn’s truck, and she turns it up loud enough to be almost uncomfortable. But it’s more comfortable than silence, and it’s definitely more comfortable than me having to apologize, so I let it be.

We go the whole miserable drive to Baton Rouge with the radio blaring, not a word exchanged between us.

Only when we make our first stop at Best Buy to pick up my TV do I hazard a quick glance at her, wondering if she’s plotting my slow, painful death.

But it’s not anger she wipes away with a quick swipe of her hand, it’s tears.

And even though I’ve known this girl for all of three hours, none of them pleasant, my mother would have killed me for making a woman cry and then not apologizing for it.

I open my mouth to do exactly that, but she surprises me by stopping me with a cutting glare. “Save it.”

“Look, princess, I—”

She’s already reaching for the door handle. She slides out of the cab, taking her dog with her, and slams the door before I can issue the apology.

I watch as she strides toward the front door without a backward glance, ugly orange wig swishing slightly across her back as she drops her dog into her purse like it’s some sort of accessory.

Slowly she lifts her hand over her shoulder, middle finger extended, just for me.

Jenny

Noah wasn’t lying when he said he had quite a few stops to make.

Every single stop, he tells me I can stay in the car, and every single time I’ve followed him in, Dolly in tow.

By our last stop, at the hardware store, I’m beginning to debate the wisdom of tagging along on this little outing. For starters, Noah barely speaks to me. At all. And when he does speak, it’s generally something crude or rude.

Also, the hardware store? Not my thing. I remember this back from when my dad would take my sister and me there when we were kids, trying to make it seem like it was an amusement park, then quickly switching his tactic to bribe us with ice cream when we realized it so wasn’t.

But Noah hasn’t bribed me with ice cream or any sort of food, so now I’m bored and kind of hungry, and I swear he’s taking his sweet time just to torture me. I’ve resisted whining so far, but I can’t take it anymore.

“Are you almost done?” I ask casually as I reach out and pretend interest in a package of rainbow-colored zip ties.

“Yup.” He doesn’t look up from the electrical tape he’s been perusing for the past five minutes.