Page 57 of Already Callin’ You Mine

14

PRESLEY

I’m in Jace Hayes’s truck.

Holy shit…

The teen girl inside me squeals. A pure, unadulterated sound of absolute joy. She’s also dancing. And not elegantly. No, ma’am. She’s flailing about in a way that might leave some people to wonder if she’s having an episode. A cross between Elaine in that old episode of Seinfeld and Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. Sheer chaos at best.

“Make sure you buckle up,” Jace says, his shit-eating grin growing by the second as he climbs behind the steering wheel.

“Why? We in for a wild ride?”

“Never know.” He winks, setting off the butterflies in my tummy.

Seriously, high school Presley is so fucking jealous of me right now. Grown-up Presley has to keep her wits about her though. She doesn’t get to act like a seventeen-year-old girl in the cute boy’s truck. Nope. Grown-up Presley needs to remember who she is—who he is—and what is waiting at home.

Responsibility.

Jace slips the truck into gear, easing up off the brake and letting it roll forward. He’d backed this bad boy into the space—not that there is anyone else left in this parking lot now to maneuver around—making our exit simple. And too quick.

I wasn’t kidding when I said it was an easy walk over here. Just a pop around the corner. Meaning this is going to be a very short ride.

“I’m sorry.”

Errr…what?!

My head whips toward Jace, his silhouette highlighted in the glow of the dashboard. I don’t think I heard him properly.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, just as calm and sincere as the first time.

“For what?”

“Whatever I did to make you avoid me this week. I…I didn’t mean to upset you. Or overstep. Or…whatever it is I did.”

Oh, goodness. He thinks he did something.

My heart clenches, those butterflies flapping their wings again. There’s no fighting the smile that starts to take over.

“I threw up on you.”

“So?”

“So? So?!” He has to be kidding. “I threw up on you. Not just around you—on you. Talk about mortifying.”

Jace shrugs. “Not the first vomit shower I’ve experienced. Although it might have been the most polite. Dare I even say sexiest?”

I scoff laugh. “There was nothing sexy about it.”

“Significantly sexier than when Duckman did it after the Georgia/Alabama game junior year of college.”

Okay, I’ll give him that. No idea who Duckman is, but I can form a picture in my head and it’s not pretty.

“Is that the only reason?” he continues.

“Err…well…” I stumble. It is. Only, it’s not.