Page 58 of Mistaken Identity
That sounded pretty close to my idea of heaven.
However, I thought it might be pretty close to hell for her.
“Uhh,” I hesitated. “You’ll have to be pretty close to me.”
A determined look crossed her face before she said, “I should’ve brought up my issues with you a long time ago, and maybe you could’ve set me straight years ago.”
I tilted my head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she confirmed. “And maybe I would’ve been able to be close to someone without my stomach feeling like it was about to revolt.”
“Are you saying I don’t make you want to throw up?” I asked.
“No,” she admitted. “I can stand as close to you as I want and not throw up.”
I nodded. “What about hanging onto me?”
She bit her lip. “I think I can do that, too.”
I nodded and did an about-face, then headed right back inside to get the spare helmet I saw Gunner had.
“Gonna borrow this,” I called out to him as I passed.
He was on the couch with Lottie bouncing on his knee, singing about dancing with trees.
His eyes sparkled as he said, “Sure thing.”
I was out into the blistering heat moments later.
Creole waited patiently beside my bike, and I had a moment of ‘hey, she knows which one is mine’ when I walked right up to her and said, “Can I put this on your head?”
She visibly wilted. “Yes.”
I put the helmet on her head as I said, “No clue who last wore this, though. You might have two tons of glitter in your hair when you’re done.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I was a boy mom, so we never did the glitter thing.”
“I think the glitter was from Gunner’s last conquest.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh. I thought it was from Lottie.”
“Definitely not Lottie,” I said. “Lottie had men raising her. Do you honestly think we’d allow glitter to come into our lives?”
She snickered as I pulled away, then I helped her onto my bike.
She scooted right up to me, putting her arms around my belly.
She didn’t get super close, but she was close enough that this would work.
Every last piece of me was electric at having her this close.
Now that she wasn’t hating me, I let the old feelings that I had for her slowly seep in.
God, my poor thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen-year-old self would be having apoplexy right now.
I’d wanted her with my every breath, but hadn’t made a move because I knew that Laney had a thing for me, and Creole would never go there.
But now that Laney wasn’t here…
