When I Fall (Alabama Summer #3)

His cheeks lift with his smile. “Exactly. There’d be nothing left for you women here if I didn’t have these looks.”

The door shuts and my eyes follow him through the front window.

God, I’ve never met a man so self-possessed before. Normally, cockiness isn’t something I find charming. Men can say too much, act too assertive, and I’m immediately tuning them out and wishing I never looked at them in the first place. But with Reed, his confidence only adds to what makes him appealing. I want him brash and unapologetic of his actions. No other way but this.

He climbs into the driver’s seat and starts up the truck. My seat rumbles with the engine, bouncing me ever so slightly against the soft leather.

“So, what are you in the mood for?” he asks, looking over at me as his hand drops to the gear shift. “Burgers? Mexican?”

My mouth waters. “Mexican. I love tacos.”

His hand shifts down, backing us out of the parking spot.

I’ve never ridden in a truck before, but I’ve seen them. Heard them. None have been this loud. This truck rumbles like there’s a fire burning in the engine. With each shift of his hand, it roars to life, the thunder below my seat vibrating against my legs. This isn’t just a man’s truck. This is Reed’s truck. It’s as arrogant as he is, commanding attention as we drive down the street and tower over the other vehicles. It smells like dirt and leather and him. Something distinctly Reed. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

The song changes on the radio. A soft tune, one I don’t recognize, spills through the speakers and stills me against the seat. The man’s voice is gravelly, scratching the air, with an accent that distorts the words filling the car. But not the words falling from Reed’s lips.

Oh . . . my . . . God. Are you kidding me?

His perfectly smooth voice has me breathing quieter, but somehow, heavier at the same time. I don’t turn my head. I don’t look at him for fear he’ll stop the second he realizes he has an audience. He’s barely singing loud enough to distinguish between him and the voice on the radio, who doesn’t hold a candle to Reed, and maybe he knows I’m listening, but I won’t risk it. I also won’t ask him the millions of questions I’m dying to ask to get to know him better. I can wait until we get to the restaurant, or until this song is over.

I’ll stay silent, clutching my phone, while he pulls me under just a little bit more. I can do that. No problem at all.

Reed

BETH IS QUIET THE ENTIRE ten minute drive to La Cocina Mexicana.

I steal glances at her every few minutes, catching her eyes either focused out the passenger window, or cast down at the phone in her lap. Her profile is lifted into a comfortable expression, like she couldn’t be more content than she is right now, sitting next to me.

I, on the other hand, can’t decide how the hell I should be feeling.

I know today was my idea. I know I suggested we get to know each other to make the situation Beth put us in seem believable, but I was still expecting this shit to feel forced upon me. I was still expecting this to feel like an obligation, something I was cornered into doing because of circumstances I had no control over. Yes, I ultimately agreed to partake in this bullshit on Saturday, but Beth was the one who forced me to have to consider it. Beth was the one who seemed to be on a mission that night to screw me as much as possible with that perfect fucking mouth. Take her and what she did to me out of the equation, and I’d never be preparing myself for a night with my ex.

This was all her doing. My hand was forced, and I’m spending time with this woman to fulfill a requirement. That’s it.

So why the hell am I struggling to view any of this as a chore?

I turn the truck off after parking in front of the restaurant. Beth takes a minute to look over at me, and when she does¸ her head falls back against the seat and a slow, satisfied smile lifts the corners of her mouth.

“Hey,” I say before blinking heavily at the absurdity of that greeting.

She didn’t just fucking get here, dumbass.

“Hey,” she echoes, without the slightest trace of amusement to her voice. I open my eyes, catching her still watching me. “That was so much fun.”

“What was?”

“Riding with you.”

I tuck my keys into my pocket. “You’ve never ridden in a truck like this before?”

She shakes her head as her fingers begin unfastening the harness. Her eyes drop to the front of her. “Nope. You’re my first.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, and I can tell she’s still smiling. Even though her braid is now covering some of her face, I can still see the slight lift in her mouth.

I go for my own buckle. “Well, in that case, I hope I was gentle. I’ve been known to get a little rowdy sometimes.”

All of her movement ceases, abruptly stopping my own efforts.

“I’m not a virgin,” she says quietly, before letting her shoulders relax against the seat. She lets out a slow breath. “I guess that’s probably something we should know about each other, if we’re going to be pretending to be a couple. Though I’m not sure why that question would come up.” Her head slowly raises until our eyes meet. “Did you think I was?”

I cannot for the life of me get a read on that question. She almost sounds pained, or disappointed that she isn’t a virgin, but why the hell would that matter? And fuck! Do we really need to be talking about this? Is she trying to kill me with visuals?

I don’t know how the hell to answer that without possibly hurting her feelings, or pissing her off, or doing something that will only make my life more difficult. But she’s staring at me with those big doe eyes, filled with curiosity, looking like she’d wait a damn lifetime for what I’m about to say.

“It wouldn’t matter,” I manage through a thick voice, throwing my arm on the back of the seat so that it’s between us.

My fingers brush her soft hair, and she seems to lean closer, giving me more of it. I continue after I force my hand to clamp down on the seat.

“When we’re together on Saturday, when you’re with me, that won’t matter. You understand?” I say my words slowly, hoping they’ll sink in and we’ll never have to talk about this again.

“It would never matter.”

What the fuck did I just say?

She sucks in a sharp breath, nods, and drops her head back down. “It wouldn’t matter for me either.” Her fingers begin working the harness again.

Well shit.

I get out of the truck before I can say anything else that sounds like a damn confession, and before I let what she just admitted affect me in any way. Fuck. Maybe taking her to a restaurant where they serve tequila as a condiment wasn’t the best idea. I’m already acting like an open fucking book with this woman. Add in alcohol, and who the fuck knows what all I’m going to say?

She hops down out of the truck without waiting for my assistance. Her face is a bit flushed, and I wonder if it’s from the rain that’s got a bit of a chill to it, or the conversation we just had.

“I’m so hungry right now, I think I could eat a taco the size of my head.” Her voice breaks with a laugh, all cute and soft. She joins me on the sidewalk with her one hand still gripping her phone.