Текст книги "Crush"

Автор книги: Nicole Williams

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SEVEN

Even though it felt like Wednesday night would never arrive, it was finally here. After a grueling afternoon session at the dance studio, I’d come back to the apartment and enjoyed tofu stir-fry for one. I was lonely. Morbidly so. I never thought I’d be the girl who couldn’t stand to be alone, but this was the first time I’d lived on my own. Alone. All alone.

I was one of those girls.

However, tonight was the last night I’d have to spend all by my lonesome, because I would be with Jude tomorrow night through the weekend, and then Holly and little Jude were flying in Monday afternoon.

In the course of four days, Holly had managed to score a sweet deal on airline tickets, find someone to buy her trailer back home, get packed up, apply to every last one of the salons in White Plains, and start looking for child care for little Jude.

I took a while with the dinner dishes, deciding what to do with myself for the next couple of hours. It was too early to go to bed, I’d scrubbed and sanitized every surface in the apartment three times this past week, and we were smack into summer rerun season.

I was heading toward the bathroom to take a long bubble bath when a knock sounded at the door. I jumped—it had been a while since I’d had a visitor.

“Coming!” I called out as I headed to the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and none of Jude’s or my friends lived close enough to make the drive this late at night just to say hi.

“Come on already! Put a robe on, and get one of your asses to the door!” a familiar voice yelled on the other side of the door. “I’m developing crow’s-feet out here.”

I was smiling when I opened the door. “Hey, India.”

“Hey, girl,” she said, propping a hand on her hip. “What took you so long?” She peered over my shoulder.

“He’s not here,” I said. “But if he was you would have been waiting a lot longer than you were. A lot longer.”

I matched my straight face to India’s, waiting for one of us to crack. She did first.

The corner of her mouth moved. “There’s my girl. Now get your bony ass over here and give me some sugar.”

Laughing, I wrapped my arms around her. She was in platforms, so she was freakishly tall—so tall her chin fit over my head.

“This is a surprise,” I said, motioning her into the apartment.

India sauntered in, peeking into the bedroom like she didn’t believe Jude wasn’t in there. “A good or a bad surprise?”

“When it comes to you, Indie,” I said, walking into the kitchen, “the best kind of surprise.”

She winked. “Yeah. I’m pretty great, aren’t I?”

“Like you and half the male population on the eastern seaboard aren’t aware of that,” I teased, filling the kettle with water. “You want some tea?”

“Only if you’ve got the kind I like.” Dropping her purse on the dining table, she took a seat.

I rolled my eyes as I thumbed through my tea stash. “Will this do, Your Highness?” I asked, waving the packet in the air.

India inspected it before nodding. “Perfect.”

I turned on a burner and set the kettle on it. “So predictable,” I chided.

“Come on, Lucy. You know my rule. I take my tea the way I like my men.”

“Dark and strong,” I murmured, giving her a look.

“Yeah, well, at least I don’t take my tea green and earthy like you,” she shot back. “I mean, what does that say about Jude?”

“I sure have missed you, Indie,” I said.

“Of course you have,” she said, checking her phone. “What’s not to miss?”

Indie and I could go another five rounds easy, but I had to get to bed sometime tonight, and, judging from the way she was dressed, she had plans to dance the night away at some club.

“Not to sound rude, because you know I love me a piece of the India pie, but what are you doing here?” I asked, dropping the teabags into a couple of cups. India was a big-city girl. She dodged being in the suburbs like it spelled social ruin.

She lifted a shoulder while texting a quick message. “My brother’s up here for work, and one of his old college lacrosse teammates working for him is hot. And single. And Puerto Rican.” She waggled her eyebrows at me, her eyes sparkling.

“Of course it would be a man who would lure you to the ’burbs. Not your roommate two years running and good friend.” I tapped my finger on the counter, knowing it was useless to try to make India feel guilty. It wasn’t in her DNA.

“Baby girl, no man or friend could get me to the ’burbs singlehandedly,” she said, “but a smokin’-hot man and a snarky good friend could.”

At least I was half the reason she was here.

“How long are you in town?” I asked, guessing she’d be on the red-eye back to Miami in the morning.

“A few weeks or so. Anton is managing a new call center branch here in town, and as the lowly second-born, my job is to stay out of the way and pretend to look busy.” She made a whoop-dee-doo twirl with her finger.

“If you’re going into the family biz, why are you majoring in music?” The teapot started whistling, so I turned off the burner and reached for a hot pad.

“I’m majoring in music because that’s what I love. I’m going into the family biz because I actually want to make money,” she said, huffing. “I figure if I do my time this summer and a year or two after I graduate, Mom and Dad will turn their heads while I live on music and my trust fund for a couple decades.”

I poured the hot water into the cups. “And your first task in this new job is to go party the night away with a cute Puerto Rican?” I said, trying to hide my smile.

“What can I say? I’m living the dream.” Her phone pinged again. It was a noise that went hand in hand with India. Someone was always texting her, at any and all hours of the day.

I grabbed the cups and carried them over to the table.

“Hey, you wanna come with us tonight?” she said, glancing up from her phone. “It will just be me, Anton, and Ricky. We’re going to the best club in town, apparently, which isn’t saying much. I’ll be surprised if they even have a bottle of Cristal for us to celebrate with.”

“The horror,” I deadpanned, setting her cup in front of her. “As madam requested. Dark, and strong enough to knock your panties right off.”

Winking, India lifted her cup to her lips. “In that case, I’ll have another.”

“Thanks for the invite, and a night on the town is exactly what I need, but I’m flying out at the crack of dawn to see Jude,” I said, taking a sip of my green tea.

“Where is the Jude man?”

“San Diego. He had to leave for preseason training a couple of weeks ago,” I said.

Her eyebrows rose. “So if Jude’s in San Diego, what in the hell are you doing here in this rat-infested hole?”

I stuck my tongue out at her, which earned another eye roll. “I’ve got a summer class I’m taking.”

“Summer class? Pul-lease,” she said, making a sound with her lips. “You’ve got so many extra credits you could graduate a semester early if you wanted.”

I made a mental note to not be so open with India when it came to any and all aspects of my life. She’d been born with a built-in BS detector.

“I’m looking for a job, too,” I added, focusing on my teacup.

“Double pul-lease,” she said, making that same sound with her mouth. “Why do you need some sucky minimum-wage job when your man’s the newest member of the millionaires club?”

I sighed. Well, it was more like a groan. “Not you, too, India.” I’d already had to put together a debate team–quality explanation for Jude; I wasn’t looking forward to giving a repeat performance.

Setting down her cup, she studied my face for a moment. “Ah,” she said at last, “I get it.”

“You get what?” I replied, not really caring so long as I didn’t have to explain what I didn’t fully understand myself.

Grinning, she threw her hands in the air. “‘All the women who are independent,’” she sang, swaying in time to the imaginary music.

I chuckled and joined in. “‘Throw your hands up at me,’” I sang back, remembering why I was majoring in dance and not music. I couldn’t carry a tune to save my soul.

“Is that what it has to do with?” she asked softly.

“Partly.”

“And what’s the other part?” she asked, grabbing hold of my hand.

“I’m still trying to figure that part out,” I admitted. Contrary to what I’d thought, it felt good telling someone that I didn’t have a clue why I needed to carve out my own way financially, that I just knew I had to.

“So, what sweet minimum-wage gig are you going to be slaving your summer away at?” she said before taking another drink.

I shrugged a shoulder. “I haven’t found one. Yet.” I was determined I would, though, and if I’d learned one thing in life, it was that Lucy Larson’s stubborn resolve often got what it wanted.

India’s face wrinkled before she put her phone up to her ear. “That’s about to change,” she said.

“Do I want to know?”

She held her cease-and-desist finger up as I heard someone answer on the other end. “I’m on my way,” she barked.

Nice greeting.

“Well, Ricky’s just going to have to wait a little longer,” she cut in before the voice on the other end got more than a few words in. “And you’re going to have to wait, too, big brother.”

“Hey, Anton,” I said, loud enough that he could hear me over India’s voice.

“Yes, that was Lucy,” she replied. “Yes, Lucy Larson, my old roommate.”

“The one and only,” I said, heading over to the stove to grab the teapot. India also drank her tea like she went through men: quickly and voraciously.

“Lucy lives here,” India continued to explain. “No, obviously not year-round, dumb ass. The apartment here is her and her fiancé’s little love shack they do naughty, naughty things in.”

“India,” I hissed, pouring more water into her cup, “control yourself.”

“No, he’s not here,” India said, swatting my butt as I headed back from the kitchen. “He’s got some sort of football training camp thingy.”

“Thingy?” I called out.

She dismissed me with a wave. “I already asked her. She’s got an early flight out in the morning, so she’s taking a pass tonight.”

“Next time,” I called out again so Anton could hear me.

I had yet to meet India’s older brother, but I’d been part of enough of these three-way conversations that I felt like I knew him. In a lot of ways, he reminded me of my brother. He was protective of India, checking in on her almost daily, had a killer sense of humor, and never seemed to run out of things to say. In a word, Anton was charismatic.

“Will you shut your mouth for two seconds so I can get to the reason I’m calling you?” India interrupted after a few moments.

Taking my seat again, I heard Anton reply, “Shutting mouth.”

“Thank you,” India said, settling into her chair. “Are you still looking for an administrative assistant?”

India waited for his answer.

“And how much were you planning on paying per hour?”

India’s face squished when Anton answered. “Tell you what. You make that eighteen dollars an hour and I’ve got you the best damn administrative assistant you could ever dream to find.

“You’d want to interview her first?” she said, lifting her shoulders. “Okay. Interview her.” Lifting the phone toward me, she pressed the speaker button.

“Hey again, Anton,” I said, glaring at India for putting me on the spot. “Sorry my friend’s such a lunatic.”

“Lucy?” he replied, sounding as caught off guard as I was. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry my sister’s such a pushy maniac.”

“No biggie. I’m used to it after three years,” I replied, as I smiled innocently at her. She gave me the finger.

Anton laughed. His voice was so deep that when he laughed, it sounded like more of a rumble than a laugh. “So are you really looking for a job, or has India been eating too many ‘special’ brownies again?”

India glared at the phone.

“I’m really looking for a job,” I said, feeling like I should let him off the hook by saying I wasn’t interested in being an assistant, so he wouldn’t feel obligated to give me the job, but I needed a job, and working for Indie’s brother for the summer was better than about 99 percent of any other jobs I could find.

“Do you have any administrative experience?”

“No,” I said, “but I’m a fast learner.”

India shot me a thumbs-up.

“How many words per minute can you type?” Anton asked next, sounding every bit the professional businessman he’d become since graduating college a few years back.

I motioned to India, looking for help. She mouthed, “I don’t know.”

“Uh . . . some,” I said, grimacing.

Anton was silent for a moment. Probably trying to figure out a way to let me down gently. “What’s your proficiency with Microsoft Office Suite?”

“Well,” I said, trying to keep a level voice. Might as well have a little fun with this impromptu interview. “I’ve danced lead in The Nutcracker three times.”

India slapped her leg, rocking in her silent laughter. I swatted her, ready to burst into my own not-so-silent laughter when the sound of Anton choking on his own chuckles broke through the phone.

“Okay, Mr. Hotshot,” I said, “I’ve never worked in an office setting before, and I don’t know how many words I can type per minute or what my proficiency in Microsoft Office Suite is”—I made air quotes—“but I’m a hard worker. I’ll be there on time, and won’t leave until I’ve typed however many words you need me to. Okay?”

“Anything else?” Anton asked, partially composed.

“Yeah, one more thing. If you’re looking for one of those smiling, coffee-fetching, vacant-eyed bimbo types for an assistant, I’m not your girl.” This was positively the worst job interview in the history of interviews. Crash and burn, Lucy. Back to the want ads.

“Since I’m not big into bimbos,” Anton said after a few seconds, “and I really hate coffee and smiling, I’d say you just landed yourself a job.”

Say what?

I gawked at the phone, certain I hadn’t heard what I thought I had.

India did a fist pump into the air as I remained silent.

“Can you start first thing tomorrow?” Anton was all business again.

I gave my head a swift shake. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, but can be in at the crack of dawn Monday morning.”

“Not even one day on the job and you’re already requesting vacation days?” Anton teased. “What kind of employee did I just hire?”

Reality was finally starting to set in. I had a job. A sweet-paying job working for one of my best friend’s brothers. “The kind of employee you thank your lucky stars for,” I threw back, ready to hop out of my chair and bust a move.

“Lucy Larson, administrative assistant,” Anton said. “I like the sound of that. See you Monday morning.”

“First thing,” I said. “Thank you, Anton. You won’t regret it.”

“No, Lucy,” he replied, “I’m sure I won’t.”

You know that person who’s the first out of her seat the instant the airplane comes to “a complete stop”? Yeah, that would be me.

I was the first person up and the first person off the plane that Thursday in San Diego. As I powered toward the baggage claim area, I had to remind myself to walk, not run. More than once I forgot.

I saw Jude before he saw me. He was spinning circles in place, and his eyes fell on me after a final revolution. His shoulders relaxed when he smiled. “Yo, Lu-cy!” he shouted—Rocky-style—above the noise in the airport, breaking into a run my way.

I didn’t care that we were catching the attention of everyone within hearing and seeing distance; nor did I care about the show we’d be giving them soon. The only thing I cared about was the guy running at breakneck speed and getting his arms around me.

I wasn’t walking anymore. My bags were bouncing against me as I dodged around people, and the corners of my eyes stung with the tears forming. You would have thought he’d been deployed to the Middle East for the past year from the way we were charging at each other.

When Jude reached me, he grabbed me up and spun me around. I held on for the ride, wondering how another person could make me feel whole again. When Jude finally set me back down, I let my purse and carry-on fall to the floor. Folding me back into his arms, he pressed into me as tightly as two people could fit together. God, it felt so good.

“Damn,” he breathed into my hair. “I can’t go that long again.” His hand cupped the base of my neck and his other arm pressed into the small of my back.

My own arms were cinched in a death-hold around his waist. “Me, neither.”

While people grabbed their luggage from baggage claim or waited in line for a cup of coffee, Jude and I stood there, frozen in time. Five minutes, ten minutes, no minutes? I didn’t know. And I didn’t care.

He smelled the same, all soap and man, and his skin had darkened another shade in the California sun.

“Promise me right now we’ll never go that long again without seeing each other,” he said, nuzzling into my neck.

His breath against my skin gave me goose bumps.

“Promise,” he repeated, looking hard into my eyes.

“I will only make you a promise that I can guarantee I can keep,” I said, remembering why honesty was a double-edged sword when his face fell a bit.

His thumb brushed under the collar of my shirt. “Promise me you’ll marry me.”

I exhaled. That was an easy one. “I promise.”

His face went from dark to light in the span of two words. “Promise you’ll marry me in the next six months.”

Back in the danger zone.

I replied with a lift of my eyebrow.

He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. You’re so difficult, Luce,” he said, keeping me tucked under his arm as he turned toward the baggage carousel. There was only one suitcase left spinning around on it.

Grabbing my bag, Jude pretended to be overwhelmed by its size. Or weight. Or both.

“God, Luce,” he said, looking from me to the bag. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were planning on staying awhile.”

Jude’s continued theatrics with my bag caught the attention of a few people waiting at the next carousel over. One little boy in particular.

“Two nights is a while for a girl,” I said, not able to take my eyes off the little boy gaping at Jude. No matter where we went, Jude got a lot of gaping. The little boys who stared were amusing; I only tolerated the batting-eyed females because I couldn’t take out the world’s female population singlehandedly. “Besides, I’ve got a present in there for you that took up at least half the space.”

“Present?” His eyes sparkled. “A ‘just because’ one?”

“Aren’t those the best kind?” I said, grabbing his hand and dragging him over to the airport store. I had an idea.

“I got you a present, too,” he said proudly as I scanned the store.

“A ‘just because’ present?” I asked as I found what I was looking for. Tugging on his hand, I beelined for it.

“Aren’t those the best kind?” he said.

“Yes, they are,” I said, grabbing the turquoise-and-yellow football before heading to the cashier.

“Luce, I can get you one of those for free,” he said, sounding confused. “An official one with the whole team’s autographs if you want.”

The cashier rang me up, and, before I could hand her the cash, Jude slipped a shiny black card into her hand. “I got it,” he said.

It’s all right. No biggie, I had to tell myself. He’s just paying for a football.

I thanked the cashier, then sifted through my purse until I found a pen. Handing him the pen, I held the football in place. “I just want one autograph.”

He did that half smile, half smirk of his that was by far the sexiest expression in the whole damn world, before signing his name just to the right of the laces.

“I feel like my number-one fan should get something better than an airport football,” he said, following after me as I headed back to the baggage carousel.

“Oh, believe me,” I called back, “your number-one fan will be demanding you give her something better later tonight.”

He chuckled, that low-timbered one of his. “I live to serve.”

Pushing the thoughts aside that were making my whole body tingle, I walked toward the little boy who was still gawking at Jude. The kid wasn’t even blinking.

I knelt beside him, holding the ball out for him. “You look like a fan of Jude Ryder’s,” I said, grinning as the boy’s eyes widened another notch when he saw the signature.

“His biggest fan,” the boy said, his voice high and excited.

“You and me both, kiddo,” I said, motioning at the ball when he stayed frozen.

When he finally grabbed the ball, his face lit up like only a child’s could. It was amazing how a signature of the guy I loved could make a person’s day. It was heavy stuff, and something I wasn’t sure I was ready to process yet. Jude had been a big deal back at Syracuse, of course, but now playing for the NFL would mean a whole new level of fame.

I winked at the boy before standing up.

“Thank you,” he called out as I headed back to where Jude stood a way back with my bags.

I waved at the boy as he rushed off to his parents and stuck the ball in their faces.

“I know you don’t want it going public, but you’re quite possibly the sweetest person out there,” Jude said, his voice and eyes soft.

I grimaced with exaggeration over sweet.

“I think you just made that little guy’s year,” he said, wrangling my duffel over one arm and grabbing my hand with his other. “A beautiful stranger picking him out in a crowd. That’s one he’s going to be telling his buddies ten years from now.”

“That boy had eyes for nothing but you and that football,” I teased as we headed for the parking garage.

“I would have come over and said hi, but the little guy looked close to hyperventilating as it was.”

“Yeah, I think it’s a good thing you stayed back.” I laughed. “I’m certain his heart couldn’t have taken it if you’d said something to him.”

Fishing keys from his pocket, Jude came to an abrupt stop in front of a lifted black truck. “And I’m certain my heart can’t take it if I don’t kiss you,” he said, resting a hand on my hip. “Right here. Right now.” He stepped closer, until I could feel his body against mine. “And, Luce? I want you to kiss me until I’m weak in the knees.”

That melting sensation I got whenever he looked at me the way he was now started to spread from my stomach. Lacing my fingers behind his neck, I popped up onto my tiptoes. “I live to serve,” I whispered, quoting him from earlier, before pressing my lips to his.

This wasn’t a soft kiss. It wasn’t a sweet or shy kiss either. This was the kind of kiss you gave when you knew death was moments away. This was the kind of kiss you could feel in every part of you, and the kind of kiss that was dangerously close to making me combust right here in the airport parking garage. Fully clothed and all.

My hands moved from his neck to the bottom hem of his shirt. Skimming my fingers inside, I played with the skin trailing along his jeans. Our tongues tangled as my thumbs skimmed lower. Moaning into my mouth, Jude dug his hands into my backside, pushing himself up against me.

Okay, yeah. If he kept pressing and moving against me like that I was about two hot seconds away from ripping both of our clothes off.

As he picked me up, I wrapped my legs around him. Pressing my back up against the truck, he bowed my neck over the hood to give him better access. His mouth moved from mine to my neck, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin until I couldn’t breathe.

Somewhere in the back of my sex-crazed mind, I realized the truck’s owner probably wouldn’t be down with Jude and me going at it, having clothed sex on the hood, but I was long past words . . . and caring.

So when the snaps and clicks of cameras started to grow louder, I paid them no attention. All I felt was Jude’s mouth and body moving over me. It was obvious that was all he cared about, too, because it wasn’t until the people and cameras were a few cars away that either of us took notice.

“Jude! Jude!” they were shouting. “Lucy! Lucy!” More shouting and snapping, so much it shot us both out of our makeout haze.

Jude’s muscles tensed over me, and, when his face lifted over mine, I saw a familiar expression I hadn’t seen in a long time. Dr. Jekyll, meet Mr. Hyde.

“Jude,” I begged. “Chill out,” I coaxed as he set me down.

The photographers continued to yell things at us. Some comments were too vulgar to repeat. Their cameras never stopped snapping.

Angling himself in front of me, Jude stiffened further.

Shit. This would not turn out well for all the parties involved if I couldn’t talk King Kong down from the Empire State Building.

“Jude,” I said, grabbing his arm and trying to turn him around. He didn’t budge. “It’s fine. They’re just pictures.”

God, the muscles in his arm felt like they were going to burst through his shirt.

“They’re pictures of you and me, Luce,” he replied, seething as the cameras continued to go off. “Pictures of you and me doing something I don’t want everyone else to see.”

Why was he just standing there, letting them get more photos of him about to blow his lid?

“This is not the first time we’ve been under public scrutiny,” I said. “And it won’t be the last. And I sure as heck am not going to stop letting you kiss me like that whenever and wherever the mood strikes, so we might as well start getting used to it now.” I don’t know where I was finding the sense to be so reasonable.

“How’s she in bed, Jude?” one of the photographers, who had no sense of self-preservation, called out.

“What did you just say, dickhead?” Jude charged a few steps forward. I didn’t let go of him, so he had to drag me right along.

“Jude, stop. Think!” I yelled, realizing he’d only gotten stronger in the weeks of summer training. “Stop and think!”

My body couldn’t stop him, but my words could. Coming to an abrupt stop, Jude glanced at me. It was the shortest of looks, but his whole face morphed in that silent exchange. He closed his eyes and took in a few breaths before looking back at the photographers.

Giving his shoulders an anger-defusing shake, he slid his phone from his pocket. Holding it up, Jude took a picture. “There. I’ve got all your faces on my camera now,” he said, his voice controlled. Just barely. “If I see or hear about any one of those pictures being printed, I’ll come after each and every one of you.” Jude pointed his finger at the photographer who’d been stupid enough to ask about my skills in the sack. “Starting with you.”

After they’d picked their jaws up from the ground, the photographers started to disperse. One chanced snapping one more, but rethought that when murder flashed over Jude’s face. Only when the last one was out of sight did Jude’s shoulders relax. Turning around, he had the good grace to at least look sheepish.

“Sorry?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

I nudged him, proud of his restraint. “If I had a quarter for every time I’ve said—no, I’ve shouted—‘Jude!’ and, ‘Stop!’ in the same breath, I’d be a rich woman.”

Picking my bags back up, he hung an arm over me. “You already are a rich woman,” he said, making my stomach drop. I wasn’t a rich woman. He was rich.

“And if I had a quarter for actually listening to you when you’ve yelled the words ‘Jude!’ and ‘Stop!’ in the same breath . . .” He grinned down at me. “I’d be middle-class.”

“What do you think the owner would say if he knew what we’d just done on the hood of his new truck?” I said as Jude steered me around the side of it.

“He’d probably ask for a repeat performance.”

I laughed. “Probably. Only horny pervs drive trucks like these.”

Grabbing the handle, Jude swung the door open. “I’m with you on the horny part, but could we drop the perv part? I don’t really want my fiancée to think of me as a pervert.”

My mouth dropped open as Jude situated my bags in the backseat. “This is yours? When did you get it? Where’s your old truck?” I couldn’t stop the flow of questions.

Holding out his hand for me, he helped me into the truck. I had to leap to get inside.

“This is mine. I got it a couple days ago. And my old truck is going to be scrapped as soon as possible.” Shutting the door behind me, he jogged around the front and crawled into the driver’s seat. Even Jude in all his gigantor size had to jump to get inside.

When he turned the key over, the engine fired to life. It was so loud, it vibrated the cab. “Now, this is a truck we could get it on in,” he said, eyeing the second-row seat, where there was more than enough space for “getting it on.”

“We didn’t have any problem in your old truck,” I muttered, clicking my seat belt into place.

Jude stopped in the middle of reversing out of the spot, eyeing the empty middle seat, then looking at where I sat at the end of the bench. “You hated that old rust bucket,” he said, visibly hurt I wasn’t sitting right next to him like I normally did.

Unfastening my belt, I scooted over until I was pressed against him. Jude’s body running the length of mine was the only thing familiar about this truck. “It was a love/hate relationship,” I said defensively. “That was more love than hate.”

Clearly appeased, he hung his arm over my shoulders and continued out of the parking spot. “Well, I’ve still got the beater, so you can say your good-byes before he goes off to truck heaven.”

“I’m not ready for him to go to truck heaven.” I pouted, wondering why I was so upset. Jude was right: I wasn’t his old truck’s biggest fan. But now, seeing what it had been replaced with—something shiny and new—made me anxious for reasons I didn’t want to admit to myself.

“I got you a little present,” Jude said. “It’s in the glove box.”

Once he was free and clear of the garage, he gunned it. You would have thought that truck had the engine of an Indy car from the way it took off.

“My just-because present?”

“Just because I love you,” he said, clearly eager for me to open it.

I was nervous, even more so after seeing the new truck, the cost of which I couldn’t even begin to imagine.

When I opened the glove box, a robin’s-egg-blue box with a white bow toppled out. I picked it up, already close to hyperventilating. I’d never received a gift in the blue-and-white box, but it was iconic. Every girl knew what store it came from and what was inside. It was a female rite of passage to identify this particular shade of robin’s-egg blue.

I brought it to my lap and stared at it.

“Open it,” he encouraged. “I’ve been dying to give it to you since I picked it out last week.”

I smiled. It was impossible not to with that boyish look on his face. “This is a pretty fancy box, Mr. Ryder,” I said, untying the bow.

“Walmart does a pretty badass gift wrap, don’t they?”

I elbowed him. “Nice try.” I doubted I’d ever get another Walmart present from him again. The idea made me sad.