Page 30 of Gin & Jewels
“Really?”
I shrugged. “Never had the chance.”
“Maybe we can change that one day.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m always down for a vacation.”
“Never had one of those either,” I mumbled.
He frowned. “Is this because of your parents’ deaths?”
I sighed. “Yeah, and I just haven’t had the money.”
“Then we definitely need to change that.”
“I’m not sure I could ever get in one,” I admitted.
“You’re scared of flying?”
“Flying. Driving. Really anything that could crash.”
Brad furrowed his brows. “Driving? You don’t drive?”
“Yeah, my parents went out for a date night two weeks before I turned sixteen, and my dad had a heart attack while driving. He hit the median on the freeway, and they died on the way to the hospital. I haven’t been able to get behind the wheel of a car since, so I never got my license.”
“Cassie”—he turned his chair to face me and grabbed my hand—“you can’t live your life in fear. That’s no way to live, and the chances of you dying the same way are slim to none.”
I turned my head so I wasn’t looking into his eyes. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t know what it’s like.”
He reached up and turned my face so I had to look at him. “I was in the Marines, princess. I used to face death daily. I know better than you think.”
He was right, but I was still scared. I didn’t want to be the reason someone died. “I know you’re right, it’s just …”
“Hey, it’s okay. Maybe this is why we were brought together? I love to help people, and this is something I can help you conquer.”
“Driving?”
He smiled and hit his back window lightly with his knuckles. “Yeah, driving. I’ll let you take this beast out to learn in.”
I didn’t tell him that I already knew how to drive because I was only weeks away from getting my license before everything changed. I liked the idea of spending more time with Brad, and if I ever got behind the wheel again, Iwouldfeel better if it were a tough truck.
Brad turned toward the screen just as the movie started. An hour or so into it, he got out of the truck bed without saying anything. I watched the movie as I listened to him open his driver’s side door and then shut it. He got back into the bed of the truck with a small, square, pink cardboard box. He handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“A little something.”
I arched a brow. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”
“Just open it,” he ordered.
I did, not paying any attention to the creepy movie playing in the distance. Instantly, the smell of sugar filled the night air, and I smiled. “A cupcake?”
“It’s officially your birthday. Want me to sing?”
I laughed. “No, that’s okay. Thank you so much.”
