Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Genny is quiet as a mouse. I look over, and she’s got her head down, a sketch pad on her lap with a pencil in her hand. Long smooth strokes glide along the paper. Another piece of information unfolding about the woman who’s got me wrapped around her finger. Instead of interrupting what she’s doing, I put my seatbelt on; she’s already got hers locked into place. I guess I’ll tell her the game plan once we’re on the road.
“Sorry,” she says once I’ve got the truck in gear, and we slowly pull away from the barn.
“No need to apologize. While I’ve got your attention, figure since it’s already noon, we’ll get a hotel for the night.” I take my eyes off the dirt road for a minute to look at her. Heat is blazing a path across her cheeks. “We won’t be able to stay overnight with the herd loaded up. I don’t want to take a chance on someone screwing with them while I’m asleep.”
I return my gaze to the road, resituating myself, more aptly my fucking dick, and wait for her response.
“That makes sense. I can pay for my half.” Fuck me. She ain’t paying for a damn thing when she’s with me. But I can’t bark out an answer. I’ve got to be firm yet gentle, because the last thing I want is her to shy away from me again.
“I’ve got it covered.” Genny goes to respond, but I change the subject. “I knew you painted. Had no idea you could draw.”
“Yeah. Well, paint in a moving vehicle isn’t a great idea.” She lets out a soft laugh.
“I’d suppose not.” Genevieve puts her pencils in the cupholders and turns the dial up on the volume, which I take as my cue that she’s done with conversation for the time being. I’ll give her this play, for now.
THREE
GENEVIEVE
“Are you ready for some real food?” Amos asks about seven hours into our fifteen-hour road trip. We’ve made one pit stop along the way. He made it seem like it was for diesel, but I think it had something to do with my legs jiggling back and forth. Try as I might, the caffeine hit hard in more than just the jitters, which, by the way, Amos packed enough of to keep me awake for the next three days.
“Might not be a bad idea. A girl can only last on junk food for so long.” I didn’t eat all the snacks he packed, but I did have a small taste of each one, minus the chips. I’ve never met a chip I wouldn’t eat, and since he had all of my favorites, I knew what would happen if I so much as opened a bag. I’d smash them so fast and wouldn’t stop until they were gone.
“Yeah, the sunflower seeds left my body a while ago. Figure we’ll stop, grab a bite to eat, and we’ll find a hotel for the night. Anything in particular you feel like eating for dinner?” I look away from the sketch I’ve been working on most of the afternoon. We’ve talked here and there, but for the most part, it’s been a comfortable silence. Amos will change the song occasionally, and sometimes we’ll get thirty seconds into it before he’s hitting the arrow button on his steering wheel to shuffle the music. It’s only when I start humming along to the tune that he settles in and leaves the song.
“I don’t care. Whatever you want works for me.” I shrug my shoulders for emphasis. Amos flips his blinker on, signaling that he’s taking the ramp and detouring off the interstate.
“Oh no. Raised Sienna practically since she could have an opinion. The last thing I’m going to recommend is where to eat. My luck, I’ll say barbecue and you’ll want seafood.” I scrunch my nose up at both of those suggestions.
“Not a fan of seafood, so you’re good there. Have you seen me around a drink while walking? Can you imagine me with sauce?” Maybe if we were at the ranch or I was in the comfort of my own home with a bib, I could make it work. In front of the hottest cowboy I’ve ever met, no freaking way.
“See what I mean? You choose. I’ll eat whatever as long as it’s not soup or salad.” Amos has his wrist hanging over the wheel, his arm on the center console, and I’m currently in a battle with where to look more. His tousled hair is lying haphazardly along his forehead and on the side of his head, probably from running his long thick fingers through the strands while battling traffic earlier. Amos is older than me, yet he doesn’t make the age difference between Trey and Sienna a big deal. Maybe it could be the same between us. Oh, who am I kidding? There isn’t an us. That doesn’t stop me from thinking about it every other waking moment. Damn my best friend for putting these thoughts in my head and for Amos lighting me up with his soft touches.