Page 31 of Let the Light Shine Through

“But I don’t have anything to trade.”

Even better.

“I’m not too worried about it. I’ll get ’em from you some other time.”

She waves a hand through the air. “Nah, you can keep them. I like your shit better anyway.”

“This doesn’t seem very fair. Your underwear isn’t even my size.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you try.”

“To fit into them?” My voice cracks, embarrassing the shit out of me. Gia got me to do one crazy thing, not even by choice either, but there’s no chance of me squeezing my junk into a pair of too-small boxer briefs.

I adjust my shorts just thinking about it. I like my fit snug but not that snug.

Gia must see—is she watching me?—because she laughs and the sound goes straight to my veins like a dose of heroin. Not that I know what heroin feels like, but it’s gotta be fucking potent for so many to fall victim to it. And Gia’s laugh is that powerful. That addictive.

“You do know you’re in the shade, right? Most people work on their tans in the sun.”

Gia rolls her head to the side, saying, “You don’t know? The sun can kill you.”

Her eyes, hidden behind glasses, track mine as I venture closer, putting me less than a foot away from her.

A diesel truck passes by, covering my noisy-ass swallow.

An outstretched hand and I’d be touching her. The urge to do just that runs up my arm, across my shoulder, settling at the base of my neck. I roll my shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension, but it’s no use. Gia’s within reach, and Jesus, do I want to reach.

I swear she knows what I’m thinking because she starts rocking her bent leg, almost like a tease. A dare. Back and forth, back and forth, until finally her jeans brush the backs of my fingers.

My hand clenches into a fist. A fist I contemplate biting my teeth into, just to keep from grabbing her because if I did, I don’t think I’d be able to let go. Not this time.

“Congratulations, by the way. On graduating.”

That sounded less pathetic in my head.

“Mmm,” she says as a thanks, I guess, before saying, “You look like shit, cowboy.”

“That makes one of us then.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, it does. You look good, Gia.”

I’ve traveled around the globe and, hands down, Gia’s one of the most attractive women I’ve ever caught sight of, even without a single stich of makeup. Gia’s naturally gorgeous, so she doesn’t need it, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was trying to mask her physical appearance by wearing oversized men’s clothing all the time.

But that’s just Gia, she does whatever she wants. She dresses her own way and goes her own way. A way I wish she’d trust me with.

“Why do you call me cowboy again?”

Her reasoning before was muddled at best. I’ve always been shirtless, but I’ve never been referred to as a fucking cowboy. Ever.

She rights her face again, saying, “You look like a good ride.”

“You mean rider?” That’s at least along the lines of the first answer she gave.

“Nope.”

Okay then.