Page 34 of Swift and Saddled

“Why did he ask?” Everything seemed pretty well taken care of at Rebel Blue.

“Gus needs another number two since I’ve got this.” He motioned around him, indicating the house.

“But this won’t last forever,” I said, not intending for my words to have a double meaning, but they did.

“Dusty likes temporary,” Weston said. “He should be here this week. You’ll like him.”

“Oh, really?” I didn’t think Weston knew me enough to know if I’d like the newcomer, or I guess oldcomer.

“He’s like the man version of Teddy.” He shrugged. “And everyone likes Teddy. Except Gus.”Interesting.I pocketed that piece of information to ask Teddy about later. I stillhadn’t seen her. She’d sent a few more texts—she’d been busy with her dad but was going to come by on Friday.

“And his mom is the carpenter?” I asked.

“Yeah, she’s cool. I’ll talk to her and see if we can take materials to her this week, and we can talk to her then.” There were a lot of “we’s” being flung around today.

I nodded. “That’s great.”

Weston rubbed at the back of his neck, like he was suddenly nervous. “So,” he said, “I drove my truck over here, and I thought you could drive it back to the Big House.”

“Um, yeah,” I said, also feeling suddenly nervous. “I guess we can try.”

“Okay, great. I’ll just meet you outside when you’re ready.”

After most of the crew had left, having agreed to tomorrow’s earlier start, Evan and I came out of the house last. Evan was going back to San Francisco for the weekend, so tomorrow would be his last day on-site this week, and he wanted to brief me on what needed to happen before he came back. I was used to being solo on parts of a project, but not one this large. I was anxious, but I just needed to stick to my plan.

Evan got into his rental car, making sure to throw a pointed look my way as he said, “Have fun, you two.” God, he was unbearable.

I turned to face Wes, remembering his rule. That I needed to look at him while I was talking to him. It was a stupid rule. I was perfectly happy looking anywhere but in his stupidly mesmerizing green eyes. But I was also perfectly happy looking straight into them.

An annoying predicament to be in, honestly.

I started toward the passenger side of Weston’s truck, buthe lightly grabbed my elbow and pulled me back toward his chest.

“Driver’s side, sweetheart,” he said.

I blinked slowly, waiting for my brain to rewire itself. “Sorry?” I said.

“You get in the driver’s side. You’re driving us home, remember?” Weston’s voice was amused.

“Right, sorry,” I said, and went toward the driver’s side this time. Weston opened the door for me, and I plopped myself in the driver’s seat. The truck smelled like him.

“Okay, see that pedal on the left?” he asked. I looked down at the third pedal—the clutch, I guessed—and nodded. “Use your left foot to push it all the way down to the floor.”

I did what he said, but I couldn’t get it all the way down. I wasn’t close enough to the pedals—the seat was pushed back for someone who was six foot something, not someone who was five six, maybe five seven on a good day.

“Keep your foot on the clutch,” he said as he put his hand on a metal bar under the driver’s seat—a metal bar he could reach only by putting his arm between my legs.

Was it hot in here?

He pulled the bar up and brought the seat forward a few inches. The fact that he did this with me still sitting there liquefied my insides, and if he kept this shit up, they’d be boiling within seconds. “Okay, now push it down again.” I did, and it went all the way to the floor. “Good. Does that feel okay? Easy to go all the way?”

Keep your jokes to yourself, Ada.

“Y-yeah,” I said, hoping he didn’t notice that my voice sounded slightly breathy.

“And you can reach the stick okay?” At this point, I was really regretting not thinking about all the sex-related puns that could be thrown around when learning to drive a stick shift. I swallowed one and put my right hand on the gearshift knob, not answering but showing. That was easier. “Perfect,” he said, smiling up at me. When I was sitting in the truck, we were nearly the same height, and he was so close, with one of his hands still on the bar under my seat.

I wondered if he realized how close we were—how a few more inches upward, and his hand would be between my legs. The way his tongue ran over his lips told me he did.

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