Total pages in book: 198
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Was that a compliment, or was that a compliment? I smiled again, not that he saw it though. “My friend Yuki, remember her? My friend that came to visit? Anyway, she has this farm, and one of her sisters was dating a rally car driver that she brought over that weekend. Long story short, he showed us some things.” I snorted to myself before I cracked up. “Yuki rolled the UTV, but other than that, it was a lot of fun. He said I had a natural talent.”
His gaze flicked to me then, and his mouth twisted even more a moment before he lowered his chin and pressed his lips together. “A natural talent?”
I shrugged. “I’m scared of animals that carry diseases, heights, and disappointing people. I’m not scared of dying.”
“Oh” was what he said. The twist of his mouth fell apart as he stared at me. He really was too handsome for his own good.
And I needed to stop staring at his face. “Vroom, vroom, want to go again?” I asked.
This attractive man ran a hand through his brownish-silver hair and nodded after a moment. But there was something in his eyes . . . amusement? Maybe? “You’re a menace to society, but I’m off the clock,” he said. “Show me what you got.”
We got a drink of water and took off again.
A while later, after we switched off and he took over behind the wheel, we stopped again at a small clearing. I handed Rhodes one of the two sandwiches I’d packed, and we sat on a patch of grass in the sun. We’d barely spoken to each other, both of us too busy gritting our teeth and going faster than what was suggested or safe, but it was off-season and there hadn’t been any other trailers parked, so we went for it. At least that’s what I’d assumed when he didn’t say anything about slowing down.
Two or three times, I heard Rhodes laugh, and I couldn’t help but smile each time he did.
Slowly, most of his tension had eased from his shoulders and chest. It was when he’d stretched his legs out in front of him, one hand behind his back, the other holding the sandwich up to his mouth as he ate the ham and cheese in neat bites, that he said, “Thank you for bringing me.”
I had to wait to answer because my mouth was full. “You’re welcome. Thank you for coming with me.”
Neither one of us said a word for a while, eating a little more, soaking up the warm rays of the sun. It was a beautiful day after all. The sky was my favorite shade of blue, a color I wouldn’t have imagined was real unless I’d seen it with my own eyes. The silence was comfortable. Comforting. The small sounds of the birds in the trees were a reminder that there was more than just us. That life carried on in ways that had nothing to do with our human lives.
More than I would ever admit to him, so that I wouldn’t make him feel weird, I liked that I wasn’t alone. That this big, stoic man was here with me, and I was, hopefully, turning his day around at least a little bit. It was the least I could do after so many people throughout my life had done the same for me, trying to cheer me up when things weren’t great.
“My dad and I got into an argument before he left,” he said suddenly, holding what was left of his sandwich loosely.
I waited, taking another bite.
“I forgot how much he pisses me off.”
I kept on waiting for him to say something else, and it took him a couple more bites to continue.
“I know Am doesn’t care if he stays or he goes, but I do. Business has always been more important to him than anything.” Rhodes kept talking, his voice calm. “I think he genuinely felt guilty for once in his life, but . . .”
I didn’t know how he felt. Not really. And that’s why I think I set my hand on his. Because I understood what it was like to have people disappoint you.
His eyes caught mine and stayed there. There was still frustration in his gaze, but it was less. Mostly because there was something else in them. Something I wasn’t totally sure I understood or recognized.
I moved my thumb a little, the pad brushing over a raised scar. Peeking down at it, I saw the puckered line was pale and about two inches long. I touched it again, and sensing that he might want an out from talking about his dad—about something personal to him—I asked, “What’s this from?”
“I was . . . processing a bull—”
I must have made a face because one corner of his mouth hitched up a tiny bit.