When I Fall (Alabama Summer #3)

“Cheap,” I reply, tearing my eyes from Reed and forcing myself to look at the woman. “Like, the cheapest you have.”

She stops in front of a display case. “A lot of our phones, even the newest iPhone, you can get for free when you sign up for a two year contract. It really just depends on what you’re looking for.”

I let my eyes roam over the choices in front of me as the woman moves to stand behind the case. Reed steps closer until his arm is pressed against mine.

“Do you know what you want?” he asks, his breath hot against my temple.

Do I know what I want? Has there ever been a more loaded question?

“Not really.” I look up into his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

“If you can get the new iPhone for free, I’d say go with the iPhone. I have one. I like it.”

“Okay.” I turn to the woman, my mind made up. “I’ll take the new iPhone.”

She glances between the two of us, smiling. “Wow. I’ve been here for thirteen years, and I don’t think anyone has ever bought a phone from me without at least holding it first.”

I shrug my response, trap my bottom lip between my teeth, and steal a glance at Reed. Our eyes meet instantly, as if he hasn’t been looking elsewhere, shifting all over my face with a gentle curiosity.

“What color?”

I look back at the woman, then lower my eyes to the display case. Black or white are my only options, and it really doesn’t matter.

“Surprise me,” I tell her.

She nods and opens up the glass case, grabs one of the boxes, and sets it on top. Paperwork is laid out in front of me. “Fill this out, and if you want to pick out a case for your phone or any other accessories, they are along the wall behind you.”

I grab the pen and look up at Reed. “Can you go pick me out a case?”

“What?”

“A case. Can you grab me one? I don’t care what it looks like.”

He stares at me in silence, then reaches up and runs a hand along his jaw, raking across the stubble. “Yeah, sure,” he says as he walks over to the wall behind us.

I finish the two pages of paperwork before Reed narrows his choice down to one. I’m expecting him to walk over, grab the first case he sets his eyes on, and be done with it. But that’s not what happens.

He goes from three cases in his hand, to five, stacking them against his chest as he walks back and forth along the wall. He’s putting a lot of thought into this, and that keeps my feet firmly planted where they are.

What guy, who barely knows someone, not only agrees to pick out a phone case for them, but also spends this much time doing it?

He finally settles on one, and the woman rings me up and gives me everything I need for my new phone. I have a little over a month before I should expect to see the first bill, which gives me time to find a job.

As we step outside, I stay under the awning, giving me the shelter from the rain to examine my phone. It’s hardly drizzling now, but I don’t know what the rules are for iPhones and water. I power it up and turn it over in my hand.

Black, with a floral design. Almost identical to the pattern on my boots.

“I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

I look up at Reed, keeping my emotional reaction to the case he picked out for me hidden. Clutching my phone against my chest, I smile at the question I will never say no to.

“Starving.”

He produces a set of keys from his pocket and motions with his head toward the lifted truck “Come on. Ride with me. I’ll bring you back here after we eat.” He opens the passenger door, leaning back to look at me when I haven’t followed. “What’s up?”

“That’s your truck?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s huge!”

He smiles roguishly. “You have no idea how many times a day I’m told that.”

I let out a dry, sarcastic laugh as I tuck my phone and the small Verizon bag against my body.

I could react a completely different way to that. I could ask him how many times a day, or tell him until he provides evidence of that question being factually relevant, I won’t believe him. But I keep the comments that will surely flush my skin siren red to myself.

After sticking the bag in my car, Reed steps back and allows me room to squeeze between him and the passenger seat. I look up, way up into the truck.

“Uh . . . is there like a ladder or some sort of a lift to get me up there?”

His steps closer until his body is flush against mine. Two hands take hold of my waist. “Put your foot on that bar and grab the handle. I’ll do the rest.”

His breath is warm, blowing into my hair, and his grip tightens the longer I stand still.

I will my hand to lift, my foot to brace my weight on the bar, but nothing happens. I’m frozen, powerless against the daze his contact puts me under. His thumbs dig into my back, and the pressure shoots up my spine, exploding into a thousand goose bumps at the base of my skull.

“Sweetheart, I’m starting to get wet,” he warns against my ear.

You ain’t kidding.

“Sorry.” I grip the handle with my free hand, my other clutching my phone, and place my right foot on the bar. I glance over my shoulder and nod when I’m ready.

Reed smirks, as if to tell me he doesn’t care if I’m ready or not, and lifts me off the ground, taking all my weight with ease and releasing me the second I settle onto the seat.

I should’ve flailed, squirmed in his arms a little. Anything to prolong that moment.

Really need to plan things out better, Beth.

“Thanks.” I smile down at him as I reach back for my seatbelt, only to find my hand grasping something unlike anything I’ve ever attempted to strap on. “What the . . .” I turn around in my seat, eyes widening at the bright red harness I’m supposed to be fastening.

“Ah, allow me.” He steps up on the silver bar below the door, gaining height.

I flatten against the seat when he leans over me to grab the strap beneath my left shoulder.

“Why do I feel like I’m getting ready to go drag racing?”

His quiet laugh rumbles all around me. “Truck’s been modified for when I go mudding. I had the other seat belts removed and replaced with these.” He brings both straps around my body, loops my arms through, and secures them together in the center of my chest.

“Is it that rough that you need to be strapped in like this?” I look down as his fingers tuck underneath the belt and give it a tug, lurching my body forward. “This seems a bit extreme.”

“The truck I had before this one, I flipped it off-roading four years ago. Totaled it. I was fucking lucky wearing only that lap belt. Only ended up with three cracked ribs and a nasty gash on my head.”

He leans back a bit, pushing all the hair off his forehead and exposing a white scar running along his hairline. It’s long, close to two inches I’d guess, and about as thick as a line you would draw with a blunt tip marker.

“See? I can’t go messing up God’s prefect creation any further. Any more damage to this pretty face, and the female population of Alabama would plummet.” He drops his hand and steps down out of the truck.

I laugh dryly. “So, you’re really just doing a service to your home state by using the latest safety features?”