my eye. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, his arms are tone and tan, and wound around one wrist is a woven bracelet made up of individual thin strings of leather.
And after a little while, I’m feeling bold. “So what’s with the bracelet?” I make a point of looking at the strings on his wrist.
He glances down at it, his brow drawing together.
I wonder if it’s from one of his many admirers, and what memory it’s conjured up.
“It was my mother ’s,” he says, surprising me.
Oh.
“She wore it as an ankle bracelet.” He smiles. “And I did too, when she first gave it to me, until I got too big and it didn’t fit. Then I moved it to my wrist.”
Colt turns up the music and I know the conversation is over, but I’m left wondering if there’s more to the story.
Chapter 12
It’d been five years since I lost my mother, but the ache was still there like a pulled muscle, flaring up when you thought you were recovered. I don’t know why I’d admitted that stuff about my mom to Taylor. I needed to hold shit together, keep my head in the game. I was here for an assignment, not to reminisce about my mother and certainly not to examine my feelings for some girl who thought she had me all figured out. I know what Taylor thinks of me, and that’s fine. It’ll be easier to stay away from her if she stays away from me too.
We make it six hours of the nine hour trip when a tire blows out, sending the car screeching across the highway. I swear under my breath and slow to a stop on the shoulder. “Wait here,” I tell Taylor while I get out to inspect the damage.
She waits inside, watching me in the side mirror.
I kick at the flattened rear tire. Great. Just great.
I glance at Taylor. Despite what I told her, she’s unlatching her seat belt and getting out.
She stands next to me in silence watching while I jack up the car and bolt on the flimsy spare from the trunk.
“What are we going to do now?” she asks, once we’re back in the car.
“We won’t be able to go above forty-five on this tire, so we ’ll need to pull off at the first repair shop we find.”
We r ide in silence for a few miles, the music off, the hum of the roadway louder under the inadequate tire, until after about fifteen minutes, the GPS directs me to a repair shop just off the highway.
Taylor waits while I go inside. The place is run down, poorly managed and lacking in the tire I need. Fuck . I slam my fist against the counter.
After arguing for several minutes with the guy at the counter, I storm outside. Taylor is out of the car and on her feet.
“What are you doing?” she scolds. “That poor kid at the counter is practically shaking.”
I stomp out past her into the parking lot, but can feel her hot on my trail.
“Why are you in such a piss-poor mood?” She jogs to catch up with me. “So we got a flat? Big deal. We’ll get a new tire and we’ll be back on the road shortly.”
“You mean tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” she questions.
“T hey don’t have the tire we need, and with the shop closing for the night, we won’t be able to get one until the morning.” I keep walking.
Taylor catches up and tugs on my sleeve. “There’s a pizza place across the street. Come on. Let’s go get something to eat. We’ll figure out what to do.”
I glance at her, those big blue eyes are fixed on mine and the pissed off feeling subsides slightly. I give her a tight nod, and follow.
For the next fifteen minutes, I mess around on my phone trying to find the tire I need in stock somewhere else and glance up occasionally to watch Taylor nibbling on a slice of pizza.
She ’s certainly not shy about eating. I told her to order whatever she wanted, and while most girls would get a side salad, and some water, she took that literal. Three large slices of pizza piled with spicy sausage and onions. A smile escapes my lips when she catches me watching her eat. But then I go back to my phone.
“Have one. ” She slides the
And after a little while, I’m feeling bold. “So what’s with the bracelet?” I make a point of looking at the strings on his wrist.
He glances down at it, his brow drawing together.
I wonder if it’s from one of his many admirers, and what memory it’s conjured up.
“It was my mother ’s,” he says, surprising me.
Oh.
“She wore it as an ankle bracelet.” He smiles. “And I did too, when she first gave it to me, until I got too big and it didn’t fit. Then I moved it to my wrist.”
Colt turns up the music and I know the conversation is over, but I’m left wondering if there’s more to the story.
Chapter 12
It’d been five years since I lost my mother, but the ache was still there like a pulled muscle, flaring up when you thought you were recovered. I don’t know why I’d admitted that stuff about my mom to Taylor. I needed to hold shit together, keep my head in the game. I was here for an assignment, not to reminisce about my mother and certainly not to examine my feelings for some girl who thought she had me all figured out. I know what Taylor thinks of me, and that’s fine. It’ll be easier to stay away from her if she stays away from me too.
We make it six hours of the nine hour trip when a tire blows out, sending the car screeching across the highway. I swear under my breath and slow to a stop on the shoulder. “Wait here,” I tell Taylor while I get out to inspect the damage.
She waits inside, watching me in the side mirror.
I kick at the flattened rear tire. Great. Just great.
I glance at Taylor. Despite what I told her, she’s unlatching her seat belt and getting out.
She stands next to me in silence watching while I jack up the car and bolt on the flimsy spare from the trunk.
“What are we going to do now?” she asks, once we’re back in the car.
“We won’t be able to go above forty-five on this tire, so we ’ll need to pull off at the first repair shop we find.”
We r ide in silence for a few miles, the music off, the hum of the roadway louder under the inadequate tire, until after about fifteen minutes, the GPS directs me to a repair shop just off the highway.
Taylor waits while I go inside. The place is run down, poorly managed and lacking in the tire I need. Fuck . I slam my fist against the counter.
After arguing for several minutes with the guy at the counter, I storm outside. Taylor is out of the car and on her feet.
“What are you doing?” she scolds. “That poor kid at the counter is practically shaking.”
I stomp out past her into the parking lot, but can feel her hot on my trail.
“Why are you in such a piss-poor mood?” She jogs to catch up with me. “So we got a flat? Big deal. We’ll get a new tire and we’ll be back on the road shortly.”
“You mean tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” she questions.
“T hey don’t have the tire we need, and with the shop closing for the night, we won’t be able to get one until the morning.” I keep walking.
Taylor catches up and tugs on my sleeve. “There’s a pizza place across the street. Come on. Let’s go get something to eat. We’ll figure out what to do.”
I glance at her, those big blue eyes are fixed on mine and the pissed off feeling subsides slightly. I give her a tight nod, and follow.
For the next fifteen minutes, I mess around on my phone trying to find the tire I need in stock somewhere else and glance up occasionally to watch Taylor nibbling on a slice of pizza.
She ’s certainly not shy about eating. I told her to order whatever she wanted, and while most girls would get a side salad, and some water, she took that literal. Three large slices of pizza piled with spicy sausage and onions. A smile escapes my lips when she catches me watching her eat. But then I go back to my phone.
“Have one. ” She slides the
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