Page 20 of Up in Smoke

“I was thinking I’d bet my truck you have purple panties on.”

8

TRIPP

She squints,and a muscle ticks somewhere near my temple. Up close like this, the faded freckles on the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks are more noticeable. They’re not quite as dark as the ones on her shoulders.

Her mouth opens once, then closes again. I wait, wishing I knew what she was going to say before she stops herself and picks a different direction to go in.

“You just met me,” she says. “You weren’t thinking dirty that fast.”

“Yes, I was. Now I’m wondering something else, though.”

What I’d give to be inside her head. She’s flipping through the possibilities—and I hope they’re as filthy as I want them to be. I watch her chest rise and fall. Her lips roll into her mouth slowly.

“Now you’re wondering if raccoons have thumbs?” she guesses.

And just like that, the tiny moment of tension between us burns off like a lit match tossed into a pile of dry leaves. There’s no stopping my laugh, and she doesn’t hesitate to mirror myamusement. But she’s intentionally swerving away from me at the same time.

I’m off my game, and she’s holding out.

That should be frustrating. Instead, it stirs something inside me that feels a lot like the old energy I’ve been missing lately.

I shake my head. “Strike one.”

Her hands clasp casually behind her back, and she tilts her head. “Okay. You were thinking about the time you brushed your teeth and then immediately drank orange juice.”

“Nope. Last chance.”

Her mouth twists as she bites the inside of her cheek. I shouldn’t expect her to know the real answer, and I’m not sure I’d admit to it even if she got close. She’d file a restraining order if she found out I was thinking about how much money I’d owe Blythe for pinning Mesa against the wall in my room and then absolutelyrippingthat thin ass dress off her.

There’s no missing the moment she decides to stop making jokes. Her eyes flick to my mouth, then down to my chest, and quickly back up to my face. I struggle not to step closer when she unclasps her hands and nervously adjusts one of the straps on her dress.

“Maybe,” she starts, pausing to think over her final guess, “you were wondering if I?—”

“Mesa!”

I bite down on the piece of gum in my mouth and sigh as Mesa’s thoughts are interrupted by a shout from the other side of the bunkhouse. I hold her gaze, willing her to pretend she didn’t hear it.

Instead of finishing her sentence like I want her to, she straightens her posture and turns her head in Savannah’s direction.

“What?”

“Get that dress off, girl. We haveSaturday night with nowhere to be tomorrowthings to do.”

“Oh, and Tripp,” Warren so conveniently chimes in. “Your girl Violet called. Said she left something here last night.”

I blink slowly. He’s one comment away from me ordering a giant red ant farm and dumping it in his bed sheets.

Mesa gently bites the corner of her lower lip. I don’t give a shit if she knows Violet was in my room last night. I don’t think.

When she faces me once again with smug, narrowed eyes, I know I’m officially cooked.

The sudden shift in her expression makes me want to pull the hair out of my scalp. I finally look away from her and realize that we’re the only ones who haven’t changed into our regular clothes yet. Savannah is holding up a bottle of champagne, and Blythe lifts two slim crystal glasses with a smile, which will probably make Mesa rush off to change and join them.

Before I have a chance to beg her to ignore Savannah and Blythe, she’s spinning on her heel and floating down the hall. A door slams closed a moment later. Nail in the coffin.

My eyes narrow at Gage and Warren, who are failing to conceal their delight in my misery. Heston isn’t much better, pushing back the brim of his hat and shaking his head at me.

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