The Edge of Never, Wait For You, Rule: Scorching Summer Reads 3 Books in 1. J. Lynn

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       Twenty-One

      “Are you sure we’re still on 55?” I ask much later after dark and haven’t seen any headlights coming or going in either direction in forever, it seems.

      All I see are fields and trees and the occasional cow.

      “Yes, babe, we’re still on 55; I’ve made sure of that.”

      Just as he says that, we pass another highway sign that actually reads: 55.

      I lift away from Andrew’s arm, which my head has been pressed against for the past hour, and start to stretch my arms and legs and back. I lean over and massage my calf muscles afterwards; I think every muscle in my body has infused like cement around my bones.

      “You need to get out and stretch your legs for a while?” Andrew says.

      I look over to see his face in shadow; a light blue hue is washed over his skin. His sculpted jawline looks more pronounced in the dark.

      “Yeah,” I say and lean up toward the dashboard to get a better look out the windshield at what the landscape looks like. Of course. Fields and trees and—there goes another cow—I should’ve known. But then I notice the sky. I press myself up further against the dash and look upward at the stars wrapped in the infinite blackness, noticing how easy they are to see and how many of them there are without any light pollution for miles.

      “Do you want to get out and walk around?” he asks, still waiting for the rest of my answer.

      Getting an idea of my own, I smile brightly at him and nod. “Yes, I think that’s a great idea—is there a blanket in the trunk?”

      He looks at me curiously for a moment. “Actually, yes, I keep one in that box back there with the rest of my emergency roadside supplies—why?”

      “I know it might be cliché,” I begin, “but it’s something I’ve always wanted to do—have you ever slept under the stars?” I feel a little silly asking, I guess because it is kind of cliché and nothing about Andrew thus far has come anywhere near cliché.

      His face spreads into a warm smile. “As a matter of fact, no, I have never slept under the stars—are you gettin’ all romantic on me, Camryn Bennett?” He looks at me with a playful sideward stare.

      “No!” I laugh. “Come on, I’m serious; I just think it’s the perfect opportunity.” I motion my hands toward the windshield. “Look at all of the fields out there.”

      “Yeah, but we can’t lay a blanket out in a cotton or corn field,” he says, “and most of the time those fields are saturated with ankle-deep water.”

      “Not the ones covered with grass and cow bombs,” I say.

      “You want to sleep in a field where cows shit?” he says casually, but equally humored.

      I snicker. “No, just the grass. Come on …” then I glare at him teasingly. “What, are you afraid of a little cow shit?”

      “Ha ha!” He shakes his head. “Camryn, there’s nothing little about a pile of cow shit.”

      I scoot back over next to him and lay my head right dead-center on his lap, looking up at him with a pouty face. “Please?” I bat my eyes.

      And I try hopelessly to ignore what my head is actually lying on.

      I absolutely fucking melt when she looks up at me like that. How would I ever say no to her? Whether it was about sleeping next to a pile of cow shit or under a bridge overpass next to a homeless drunk—I would sleep anywhere with her.

      But that’s the problem.

      I think this became a problem the second she decided to sit next to me in the car. Because that’s when she changed, when I think she started to believe she wants more from me than oral sex. I may have done that for her back in Birmingham, but I can’t let her want more than that. I can’t let her touch me and I can’t sleep with her.

      I do want her, I want her in every way imaginable, but I can’t bear to break her heart—that little body of hers, that’s another story; I could bear to break that. But if she ever lets me have her, breaking her heart (and mine) is what will happen in the end.

      It’s harder since she told me about her ex …

      “Please,” she says one more time.

      Despite just giving myself the third-degree, I reach down and brush my fingertip along the side of her face and say very gently, “Alright.”

      I never was one to СКАЧАТЬ