Page 133 of Between Never and Forever
I hold her eyes for a moment, swirling storm gray and flashing with irritation. I force a smile and reach my hand up, grabbing hers and gently removing it from my bicep.
“Going on a float trip, Savannah. Having fun. Lighten up, would you?”
I hear her huff as I walk toward her bodyguard.
“Sav’s riding with me,” I say to him as I walk past. “You can sit in the back seat with Dakota, or ride in the bed. I don’t care. But she’s coming with me.”
I climb into my truck and wait. I watch as everyone starts to pile into cars. It looks like there are three other vehicles, so we’ll have quite the party on this trip. I’m already dreading it. I flex my hands on the steering wheel just as Dakota and Red climb into the back seat. We wait in silence until Sav finally climbs up into the passenger seat.
“Buckle up,” I tell her, and she flips me off before doing what she’s told. “Good girl.”
Her irritated growl is enough to make me hard, and I feel a smirk curl my lips before I put the truck in drive and join our caravan of vehicles.
I follow everyone forty-five minutes inland to a small-town Walmart with Dakota talking Red’s ear off in the back seat. I don’t speak. Savannah doesn’t speak. Red barely speaks.
When we pull into the parking lot, the sky is already clearing with the distance from the coast. This store is never very busy, and today is no exception. I can tell by the way Savannah’s shoulders loosen that she’s grateful for that. Still, she stuffs her long silver hair up under a black baseball cap and slides on a pair of black wayfarer sunglasses. Her aviators are in my glove compartment. I should give them back—they’re twelve-hundred-dollar sunglasses, for fuck’s sake—but I can’t. Not just yet.
Once she’s satisfied with her “disguise,” Savannah is out the door without a word and slamming it shut behind her. I have to swallow back a laugh. It’s always her irritating the fuck out of me. It’s fun being on the other side for once.
Everyone from our group disperses with plans to grab snacks and beer to stock the cooler, sunscreen for once we’re out from under these storm clouds, and a few more beach towels. I follow Savannah and Dakota, trailing a few feet behind with Red as they head to the women’s clothing section.
Savannah’s face twists up as she surveys the selection, and I let out a laugh.
“Told you. No Gucci.” She ignores me, but Dakota laughs.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says to Sav, and Sav raises an eyebrow.
“Try me.”
“You’re thinking that this is how the graphic tee business is still thriving.”
Savannah snorts a laugh and shrugs, then pulls a swimsuit off the rack.
“I was actually thinking that I’ve never seen so many variations of animal print on one article of clothing before.” She holds the hanger out and tilts her head to the side. “Is that cheetah, zebra, or tiger?”
Dakota laughs and digs through the rack, then pulls out a black one piece. It’s perfect for Savannah. Simple and sexy, with a low-cut back that will show off her tattoo.
“This is your size,” Dakota says to Sav, and just as Sav reaches out to take the suit, I snatch it from Dakota.
“This works. Let’s go.”
I don’t look behind me as I walk to the checkout and pay for the swimsuit. I know Savannah’s following me, though. I can hear her stomping and huffing like a child. When we reach the truck, I turn and toss the bathing suit at her. She squeaks and fumbles, catching it awkwardly against her chest.
“Real nice, asshole,” she grumbles, and I smirk.
“You’re welcome.”
As we’re climbing into the truck, the rest of our group comes out of the store and gets into their vehicles. We’re on the road within fifteen minutes, back on the interstate and heading west.
Savannah reaches up and turns on the radio, flipping stations until settling on something that plays alternative rock. She kicks off her sandals, props her feet on the dashboard, and rests her arm on the window ledge of the door. The tension slowly melts from her body with every song, and mine disappears with hers.
I sneak glances at her. Mouthing along to the words of whatever is playing on the radio. Gently tapping her toes against the windshield to the beat. She’s going to leave footprints up there, and I already know I will never wash them off. Footprints on my windshield. Footprints on my fucking soul.
Savannah Shaw is leaving her mark on my life in every single possible way.
I haven’t talked to her since our encounter in the music studio. Since I overstepped and made a scene. I’ve gone back and forth in the last week about whether or not I feel bad for what I’d done. For interrupting the shoot and saying what I said.
I don’t.
