“So you’re littering.”
“I’ll arrange it after you’re secured.”
“I feel so prioritized.”
“You’ve been a full-time job for three days.”
“Only three?” I turned my head toward him. “I’m slipping.”
Dex kept his eyes on the road. “You’re not as funny as you think.”
“That’s rude. I’m much funnier.”
“You’re also in my truck.”
“Temporary setback.”
He gave me a sidelong look then, quick but direct. “You believe that?”
I leaned back against the seat and looked through the windshield as the pickup nosed onto Old Quarry Road. The sun had dropped lower, turning the dust ahead of us copper. Shadows stretched across the ruts. The forest closed behind my car like it had never been there.
“I believe a lot of things,” I said.
“Try one that’ll help you.”
I thought of Crystal’s fingers denting the plastic water bottle. I thought of the bruise-purple shadows under her eyes and the way she’d flinched at every engine outside the window. I thought of the folder she’d shoved into my hands, then pulled back, then shoved at me again like trust was heavier than fear.
I looked at Dex’s profile. Strong nose, dark stubble, and both hands steady on the wheel. He looked like a man built for roads, pursuit, and bad news delivered calmly.
“I believe you’ve got the wrong problem,” I said.
His jaw shifted. “You want to explain that?”
“Not especially.”
“Then I’ll stick with the problem I can solve.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“That’s adorable. I’ve disappointed better men than you.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Careful,” I said. “That almost sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”
“I’m not.”
“You sure?”
“This is me doing my job.”
“Then your job needs better boundaries.”
His gaze stayed on the road, but his hand tightened on the wheel. “My boundaries are fine.”
The air in the cab thickened around that. Around his voice. Around my wrists. Around the fact that he had me, and he knew it, and some reckless part of me still wanted to push hard enough to see what he’d do when control stopped being easy.
