But I also felt relieved that she couldn’t see inside me that way. Because then she’d realize that I’d wanted to take things even further, and she’d see just how much of a deviant I could be.
“So tell me about the place you wanted to show me yesterday,” she said, breaking me out of my weighty thoughts.
“Huh?” I said, staring at her full pink lips, my knee now jiggling a hundred miles an hour.
“Last night, at the bar,” she said. “You said you wish you had time to show me one more place but then my tire happened.”
“It’s this old abandoned railroad bridge,” I said, remembering how my brother and I had discovered it one day. How I’d gone there a couple of times by myself to sit and think, feeling like I was the king of the world, elevated that high. It had solidified my love of bridges. “You want to go, before we leave town?”
“Absolutely,” she said, a pretty smile lifting her lips.
We finished our breakfast and walked back to the service station. Her tire was filled and plugged, her truck ready to go. I slid in the driver’s seat while Jessie went inside to pay. When I heard the passenger door open and she slunk down, she said, “You can drive us to the bridge, but only because you know the way.”
I nodded, expecting what was coming next.
“But I’m driving home. My truck, my field trip.”
“Deal,” I grinned and backed out of the space. “But I’ll admit that I like driving Old Betty.”
“Betty?” Her eyebrows bunched together. “What the hell is that?”
“My name for her. Betty, like Betty Boop. She’s vintage, been through a lot, but she still looks and drives pretty darn good.”
I wouldn’t go so far as to tell her that she also reminded me of Betty Boop—like some damn sexy pinup girl—because she was liable to smack the shit out of me for a comment like that.
“How do you know my truck is a girl?” she said, looking out the side window. “Maybe it’s a guy and I’ve already got a nickname for him.”
“Guess you have a point,” I said pulling down the old dirt road leading to the abandoned railroad. “What’s his name then?”
“Uh. . . .” I could tell she was searching. “Bo.”
I snorted. “Bo?”
“Haven’t you ever watched Dukes of Hazzard?” she said, pretending to be indignant. “My dad loved that show. Bo drove General Lee and he was red, just like my truck.”
“Actually the color of General Lee was orange, even if the name of the paint was flaming red,” I said and her eyebrow arched in surprise. “But fine. You can call him Bo when you drive him and when I drive her, I’ll call her Daisy—for Daisy Duke—Bo’s cousin in that crazy-ass show.”
She laughed and then inhaled a sharp breath when she understood my meaning. I didn’t even know why I’d say such a thing—as if making the presumption that I’d be driving her truck all the time. It just felt natural and slid from my lips without thinking it all the way through.
“Pretty sure your flashy new car would blow my ride out of the water,” she mumbled.
“I’m not sure my ride would be able to handle the back roads like this one does,” I said, to cover my slipup. “Who knows when you’ll need to photograph more bridges.”
Chapter Seventeen
Jessie
I thought it would be more awkward around Nate this morning, but I was surprised how easygoing it’d been. I tried my hardest to act normal upon waking because of how emotional our time together had been last night.
Because deep down, I was a mess. I couldn’t shake the memory of what we’d done—what he’d done—and how he’d made me feel. And I wouldn’t shake it for a very long time.
As he pulled up to the grassy abandoned lot, I couldn’t stop the onslaught of warmth that continued flooding my chest ever since he named my truck and acted like we’d be hanging out in the future. At the very least, we’d still be friends. It didn’t have to be awkward when we saw each other again.
I gaped at the huge, ominous structure, a portion slanted up at a ninety-degree angle. Then I grabbed for my camera case on the seat. I’d seen bridges like this in vintage photos but never up close and personal. It was an enormous and rugged monstrosity sitting before me and with the blue sky as a backdrop, would be amazing to photograph.
Nate had come around the truck to open my door, startling me. “Ready?”
As he grasped for my hand to help me out the truck, my skin flushed from the contact. I couldn’t stop thinking of what a contradiction he was. Kind and considerate, by helping a girl out of the car. But behind closed doors, he was dangerous and demanding in all the best ways—if only he wouldn’t hold himself back in such a tightly sealed enclosure, desperate for release. He was terrified of himself.