Page 148 of Hopeless
Bailey:Uh, because I just started working for you?
Summer:I know a thing or two about going after what you want. I love to see it. Make that world your oyster, girl.
Beau pulls himself into the passenger seat and the air in my truck instantly gets harder to swallow.
He looks delicious. A plaid shirt, a mixture of greens and creams, with a khaki tee beneath. I can see the silver chain of his dog tags disappearing beneath his layers. Jeans. The leather boots I helped him pick out.
It’s cool this morning, and the nip of fall creeps across the flat fields around us. It gets hot midday, and then the temperature plummets in the evening.
I love this time of year.
Shifting into drive, I pull away from the house, trying to keep my eyes on the road rather than on him.
I miss him.
For three days, I’ve missed him. For three days, I’ve forced myself not to walk back into his house.
And not because I’m trying to punish him. I realized that on day two. This isn’t even about him.
It’s about me. It’s about my fear outweighing my desire. It’s about taking my own first steps to start fresh. Being able to know I did it on my own, without anyone holding me back, and without anyone giving me a leg up. I’ve been a victim of my circumstances for too damn long.
First, I got mad at how unfair my life was.
Now I’m getting even.
“What are you doing?” he asks after we’ve left the limits of Chestnut Springs.
“Driving.” My hands twist on the wheel.
“No shit. In the city, Bailey. What are you doing?”
My tongue darts out over my lips as I consider what I want to tell him. He’s so … overbearing, overwhelming, overprotective, and I don’t want him barging in on this day for me. He made it very clear the other morning that I need to leave town. That hewantsme to leave town.
And him? He’s got a family. A home. Any job he wants—that he can casually pick up at the fucking gas station.
No, doing any of these next steps with him in tow would hurt too damn much.
“You can’t come with me.”
“That’s fine.” He settles back in his seat, thick biceps straining against plaid as he crosses his arms. “I have something I need to do anyway.”
Curiosity tugs at me. “What are you doing?”
I peek at him, and he grins. My stomach does this nauseating little flip.God. He’s so beautiful.
“Asked you first, sugar.”
My eyes roll. How a dumb joke about calling me sugar tits has turned into a term of endearment is beyond me. And yet, it makes me smile.
“Going in to check out the campus. I finally activated my enrollment to start in January.”
The grin he hits me with is downright blinding. I blink away, like he’s too bright to look at directly. It hurts.
“Gonna check out a few rental places too,” I mumble. Talking about these things with him feels awkward in the wake of everything that’s happened between us. Fake, to real, to a little too real.
I guess I’m just inexperienced enough to not know where I stand with him, or how to even broach the subject, even though I know I have to.
All I know is he lied. My feelings got hurt. He brings me breakfast every morning and gives me every bit of space I asked for—possibly too much space. And he told me I should leave town.
