Page 62 of How You See Me
“Does this one pass your secret rock test?” I toss it to him, and he catches it one-handed.
He examines all sides, then nods. “That works.” Into his jeans pocket it goes.
Jeans that put Wrangler models to shame. With those jeans and his cowboy—
“Dagnabbit." I slap my thigh when I notice he isn’t wearing his aht. How can he attend a country concert and not wearit?
“Dagnabbit?”
I cringe. I hadn’t meant it to sound so country, but I’m permeable to my surroundings, soaking in the environment, the noise, and spirit everywhere I go. And it’s worse when I’m nervous.
“You forgot your hat.”
“I didn’t forget.”
“You brought it? Where are you hiding—” My eyes roll at his naughty smirk, cluing me in to the joke. “I see what you did there. Took me a second.”
He winks, sending my innards into a tizzy.
We continue our trek through the tall grass until the distant hum of a crowd leads us to the concert gates.
We find a decent spot with a view—assuming no one tall shows up and blocks it—and spread out the blanket.
“I’ve never been to an outdoor concert like this. I’m sure there are plenty in Manhattan, but Ryder wouldn’t be caught dead at anything that might scuff his designer shoes.”
“You sure know how to pick ’em.” Hayes sets the cooler of food and drinks he carried all the way here on a blanket corner, drops to the ground, and stretches out his long legs. Effortless and graceful.
Meanwhile, I frump down on the blanket with the grace of a heavy bag of potatoes.
“You don’t talk about him very kindly,” he says casually, like he’s not poking a bruise. “What did he do?”
“Traded me in for a younger, better model. Literally. I think her pictures are inVogue.”
His eyes don’t move from my face. “Did you love him?”
Not exactly a question I'd expect from him. Usually, he avoids uncomfortable topics. The shock makes me blurt the truth. “Not like you’re supposed to love the person you give three years of your life to.”
“What was missing?”
Everything you did last night and this morning, I think, but don’t dare say. “He just wasn’t my person. What about you? What kind of women do you like?”
His laugh is sudden and genuine. Unexpected again. “Don’t ask me that.” Amusement fades as he snatches a long blade of grass from the ground.
“Why?” Intrigued, I fold my legs and face him. He fidgets with the grass, twirling it between his fingers. “Do you like models, too?”
“Don’t insult me by putting me in the same category as your stupid ex.”
“How do you know he’s stupid? He owns one of the largest wineries on the East Coast.”
“Still stupid.”
“Because he let me go?”
“Exactly.”
That one word answer sinks in deep. I was being flippant to get a rise out of him, fully thinking he'd dismiss me, not agree. “Thank you. It’s nice to hear that from someone other than my brother.”
There’s something secret in the way he looks at me tonight. Something I wish I could understand.
