Dirty Money(20)

Maybe it's because I've given up so much of my life for the last few  years for Wynonna that I'm doing this wild, impulsive thing for myself.  It can't be that I'm addicted to a man I just met a few days ago . . .  can it? I think for a moment and then grab extra toiletries and my  haircutting scissors from the counter and shove them into my purse. I've  become an expert on trimming both my hair and Wynonna's because we  can't afford to go to the salon ourselves. I wonder what Boone will look  like if that thick mess of hair on his head is trimmed down a little.

Not the beard, though. After today? The beard can stay. And I squirm thinking about it tickling my inner thighs again.

I expect to be full of anxiety and doubt as I drive over to Boone's  place, my phone shouting out directions that lead me further and further  away from the heart of San Antonio and out into the less-crowded  countryside. For some reason, though, I'm not second-guessing myself.  I'm into Boone. I'm an adult. If I want to sleep with the man, I should.  I should let him lick every inch of me and not give it a second  thought. I'm in my twenties. I shouldn't be a virgin who does nothing  but work and sleep. I should be able to go out and have a good time  every now and then.         

     



 

And, okay, if my good time consists of going over to some guy's trailer  so he can kiss my girly bits again? I'm fine with this. I'll think of  this as Netflix and chill . . . minus the Netflix.

I'm not surprised that the road out to Boone's place isn't paved and  turns into dirt and gravel. The road going toward my own trailer is just  like this, though this one doesn't have nearly as many potholes. The  trees are thick out here, and I pass a NO TRESPASSING sign that has a  bullet hole in one corner. Lovely. Down the road a bit further are a few  trailers, though. I count five of them, staggered apart from each  other, and I'm a little surprised. Of course, Boone did say he had four  brothers.

Still, this leaves me with a dilemma as to which one is his place.

I park the car in the middle of the road and pull out my phone.

Ivy: You want to tell me which trailer is yours? Or do I just give your brothers an eyeful until I find you?

Someone charges out the door of the trailer in the back, and then  gestures at my car. I recognize the trucker cap and the broad shoulders  even though his face is shadowed. It must be Boone. I pull the car  forward and park in front of the trailer, and then quickly hop out.

"Before you can say anything," I call as I shut the door. "Mine is in the shop. This is Wynonna's."

He gazes down at the car and then shrugs. "Didn't really notice."

Didn't notice? How can he not? The thing putters like it's a motorboat.  The license plate is held on to the trunk with masking tape and there's  no bumper to speak of. It looks like a big outdated egg. "All right."

I shoulder my bag and do my best sexy saunter up the wooden steps of his  trailer. He's silent and there's no self-assured smirk on his face like  he normally wears, which makes me curious. Is he as full of insecurity  at the moment as I am? That's surprising. It always feels like there's  nothing that rattles Boone. Nothing at all.

When I get to the top of the stairs, he opens the screen door and invites me in.

I put a hand on his chest before I go inside, because his silence is bothering me. "Are you all right?"

He nods, his gaze moving up and down over my body. "Just think you deserve better than hanging out in a trailer, that's all."

Aw, that's sweet. I laugh. "You'd be surprised. And it's fine. Let's go in."

The interior of the trailer is very bachelor. There's video games  scattered on tables, a Texas flag hanging over one wall that counts as  decor, and an enormous television over by the tattered sofa. The carpet  is old and has probably seen better days, but given that I've seen Boone  covered in grime? I'm kind of pleased that his trailer is just shabby  and not a pit. "Can I have a drink?" I ask as I set my purse down on the  back of the couch. I'm nervous and it'll give me something to do with  my hands.

"Sure," he drawls, heading to the kitchen. "You want Coors Light, Natty Light, Corona, or the hard shit?"

"Um, water?"

He looks at me, blank. "Water?"

"Like a bottle of water?"

Boone rubs his jaw. "Uh . . ."

"It's okay. Whatever you've got is fine."

"Well . . . I got Coors Light, Natty Light, Corona, and Jim Beam."

Oh boy. I'm not a drinker, and I'm definitely not a fan of beer. "Coors Light. Thank you."

He nods absently. "I didn't think this through. Shoulda ordered you some  fancy shit. Asking you over was kinda impromptu, though. I couldn't  wait to see you again." He gives me a sheepish look that's adorable.

I'm melting. He couldn't wait to see me? Maybe I'm not the only one that's addicted.

Boone pops the tab on the beer, then holds it out to me. "You want me to  order you a pizza and have them bring some drinks while we're at it?"

"No, it's all right." I take the beer and give it the world's smallest sip. "Thank you."

He gets a beer for himself, pops the tab, and takes a few swigs. We're  quiet. It's strange, because normally Boone is eating up the entire room  with his personality. But right now? He seems unsettled.         

     



 

I glance around the trailer. It's an older model, like mine. "How long have you lived here?"

He finishes his beer and grunts a response. "A while. It was my dad's before he passed."

"Passed?" I ask politely, though I know this is a rocky road to go down.  Parents are always a tricky discussion. Trust me, I know.

"Yup. Roughnecking. Freak accident. The chainhand fucked up and my dad's  leg got wrapped up in chain instead of it going around the pipe. Yanked  Dad up a good ten feet before his leg got severed, and then he just  kinda bled out on the rig." He crumples the can in his hand and tosses  it into the sink. "Company paid us a good chunk to make it go away, and  since we were young, stupid kids, we took it. Bought my little brothers  trailers of their own so we didn't all have to squeeze in here anymore."

"I'm so sorry, Boone. How old were you?"

He rubs his beard. "Twenty. I was out on a rig myself at the time. Clay,  too. Hard to go back to work after that, but we didn't have a lot of  options."

"Out in West Texas?" I ask delicately, holding my beer. Time to steer  the conversation toward safer, less unhappy grounds. The last thing I  want to do is bring up memories of his dead father before asking him to  kiss me.

"That's where most of the rigs are, yeah."

"Should you be looking to purchase a house out there, perhaps?" I've  been keeping my housing searches confined to the San Antonio and South  Texas general vicinity, but I wonder if he wouldn't rather live closer  to his work. "That's quite a commute."

"'Bout five hours one way," he agrees, then shrugs. "And there ain't  much out there 'cept rigs, so I don't mind living here. I don't have to  be on site every day. I just go in and check on things to make sure  they're running smoothly, or to dowse for a new well." He studies me for  a long moment. "'Sides, there are things I like here."

My heart flutters in my chest. The look he's giving me makes me feel  like he's mentally stripping all of my clothing off and tossing it  aside. "The Riverwalk?" I tease. "The Alamo? Are you a history buff,  Boone?"

"You know I don't give a damn about any of that shit," he tells me. He  plucks the beer from my hands-not that I was drinking it-and sets it  down, then steps in closer to me. When I don't move, he reaches out and  rubs the backs of his knuckles along my jaw.

"You should," I whisper, electricity racing through my body at his  touch. "Give a damn about that shit, that is. The Alamo's supposed to be  fascinating."

"Then maybe we'll go sometime. Quit stallin'. You know what I'm interested in." His thumb grazes my lower lip.

I lick the tip of his thumb when it skims my mouth in a flirty,  impulsive little motion. "The housing market?" I ask, pretending to be  coy.

"Something in the housing market, yeah." His hand slides to the side of  my neck and he caresses it, sending shivers through my skin. "You  wearing panties?"

A little gasp escapes me at his blunt topic change. Count on Boone to  stop mincing words and get directly to the heart of things. I feel a  flush creeping up my body and I'm aroused and excited at the same time.  "I don't know," I lie. I picked out my panties just for him. "You going  to check for me?"

He arches an eyebrow. "Somehow I think you'd be a little uncomfortable if I just shoved my hand under your skirt."

I laugh. Now he's getting thoughtful on me? "That's never stopped you before."

"Yeah, but now I'm about to get laid."

Wild giggles escape me. Just when I think this man is backing down from  his heated pursuit, he surprises me again. I love his boldness. It makes  me want to be bolder as well. I put a hand on his chest, and can  practically feel the heat radiating from his skin. I wonder if he's  hairless or covered in a thick carpet of chest hair? He's certainly  shaggy enough in the face. "So you think you're about to get laid, do  you?"