Page 30 of The Back Forty
I swallow hard, cheeks flushed for reasons that have nothing to do with the whiskey. “Yeah,” I whisper, then louder, “Yeah. I can do it. I just need to sober up. I’ll wake up early and work on it on the plane.”
His eyes stay on mine for a beat longer than necessary before he nods, holding out a hand to help me down from the stool. I slide my fingers into his palm, and the contact is so simple, so steady, that it rattles something loose in me. Heat coils low in my belly, and I hate it. Hate how safe it feels. How right it feels to be touching him when I have zero right or claim to.
“Let’s get home then,” he says quietly.
Home. As if we share one together. My brain short-circuits.
“Okay.”
I force my legs to move, the click of my boots loud in my head as I cross the room. I give my sisters a rushed goodbye—Isla waves, Catalina narrows her eyes like she knows something’s off—and then I’m out the door, walking beside Lawson into the cooler, autumn night air.
His arm brushes mine. I don’t move away. And even though I know I’ll spend the next hour chugging water and pretending to be a responsible adult who needs to sober up, all I can think about is my vibrator and the ache between my thighs and how badly I need to forget the way he looked at me when he said I was ready to handle this pitch.
Because if I don’t distract myself soon, I’ll do something stupid.
Like believe I have any right to want him at all.
Chapter 12 – Lawson
Dani’s quiet. Too quiet for how she normally acts around me.
I glance over at her in the passenger seat of my truck, where she’s got her cheek pressed to the glass window like she’s trying to cool herself off. Her arms are folded tightly across her chest, her brows drawn low. She’s still in the same denim shorts and pink cropped shirt from earlier, but she’s coiled so far inward it’s as if she’s trying to disappear.
“You good over there?” I ask, keeping my tone light as I flick on the A/C thinking maybe she's too hot and that's why she seems ready to jump out of my damn truck. “Want me to blast the air?”
She doesn’t look at me, just sighs. “No. I’m fine.”
It’s not convincing but I don’t push. Dani’s not someone you corner with questions. When she wants space, she takes it, and when she doesn’t get it, she’ll claw for it. I’ve learned that much over the past year of working with her. She gives me space when I need it. And tonight, it feels like I owe her the same.
Still, I know something's off with her mood. She’d been talking with her sister one minute, then disappeared to the bar with a little too much urgency. And yes, I saw it all go down because I'd been watching her from the moment I got to the bar. It's hard not to see her anytime we're in the same room.
When I found her there, she looked relieved to be away from them—like she could finally breathe again while talking to my sister. Then came the drinking. The joke about setting me up on a date with Catalina. That look on her face when I stopped her from ordering another drink. The way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when I told her about Texas and the pitch that I wanted her to do tomorrow.
Yeah, something’s bothering her. I just don’t know what, nor do I know how to get it out of her. I'm not used to this side of her where she shows me her moods but keeps her thoughts to herself and doesn't blurt out exactly what she's thinking.
When we pull into the driveway and park my house is quiet, and dark.
Ah, shit.I forgot that Beckham said he'd be going to his friend's house for the night to play video games and watch movies.
“Is Beckham home?” Dani asks, finally breaking the silence as she leans forward to grab the door handle.
“Nah. He's sleeping over at Kirk’s tonight.”
She nods, mouth tight as she climbs out of my truck. There’s something about the way she's holding herself together, like every inch of her body is tense and coiled. She unlocks the front door with the key I gave her months ago and steps inside without looking back at me. I follow her in, trying to ignore the ache in my chest as she heads straight for the stairs.
Was it something I said?
“I’m going to bed,” she says over her shoulder.
“Alright. I’ll see you in the morning. We can ride to the airport together if you'd like.”
She just nods again, quick, and disappears up the stairs without another word.
I linger in the kitchen for a while, staring at nothing and everything. My boots feel too heavy. My shirt too tight. I replay the night in my head, trying to pinpoint the moment things shifted with her mood.
Was it something her sister said before she got to the bar? Something I said? Was it me pulling her away from the state fair this weekend, something she might’ve actually wanted to do this year instead of flying to Texas with me?
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked her to come at all. Maybe I should’ve just handled the pitch on my own. I know the timing’s awful. She’s finally getting a break after grinding herself into the ground all year trying to prove herself—to me, to everyone—and what do I do? Drop a last-minute trip in her lap like it’s no big deal. Like she wouldn’t rather stay put while her sister’s here for the first time in who knows how long.
