Page 24 of Smoked

god. i'm sorry. what did she say

Wouldn't you like to know.

oh so that’s how it’s going to be

She wanted homework help, Wade. Relax.

that’s a lie if ever i heard one

Us girls have to have some secrets.

so mean

I send him a shrug emoji and leave him to sweat.

Friday morning, Cora's texts come in first. I’ve finally pinned down her location: Cambodia. Thirteen hours ahead.

I roll over and yawn, checking my phone.

ugh the generator died again. third time this month. had to do intake by flashlight. it's 90 degrees and i'm sweating like crazy

Viseth told Dr. Lim he doesn't need his bandage changed because and i quote "it doesn't hurt when i don't think about it." this kid i swear

Then there’s a photo. It's terrible—dim, the color blown out by a bare fluorescent bulb. Cora's in scrubs, her hair falling out of its clip, looking exhausted and radiantly happy with her arm around a small boy who's grinning at something off-camera.

i miss you. the mangoes here are insane though. tell me about your

It cuts off there. She'll finish the thought in two days. That's Cora.

I smile, set my phone down, and get up to shower.

Wade sends a rough itinerary later.

packing list attached. hotel booked for friday and saturday night, nothing fancy, just wanted to be able to take our time when we get there for setup. your name's on the Wade’s World team roster. i put your schedule in the binder

I smile. His competition name is Wade’s World? I laugh and check the packing list.

You forgot sexy panties on the packing list.

no need to pack ANY panties

see you soon

The drive to Bozeman takes an hour and forty-five minutes, his pickup truck pulling the rig on the trailer behind us, the smoker a dark shape in the side mirror against the late summer sky. His hand is on my thigh. He put it there when we hit the interstate and hasn't moved it, his thumb tracing circles through my jeans while he drives one-handed and tells me about the site draw and how the wind patterns at the Gallatin County Fairgrounds favor the east-facing lots.

The fairground lights come up through the trees as we pull in. He parks, checks in, and we handle the logistics of the rig and the site number. Then we drive to the hotel.

The room is as ordinary as he said it would be. There are two queen beds with plain beige spreads, a window unit humming, and a lamp on the nightstand that gives everything a warm yellow cast. He sets our bags down and immediately starts talking about tomorrow.

"Roll-in's at noon so I want to be up by nine, latest, get the rig positioned, check the firebox seals before⁠—"

I walk up to him and slide my hands up his chest. “Wade.”

"Yeah?"

"Are you nervous about the competition, or…me?"

He exhales through his nose. I can feel his heart beating fast under my palms. “Maybe, a little of both.”