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One Year Later
“I’ll learn on my own if you stop micro
-managing me!” I scold, trying to push Pike’s hands off my handles.
He sits behind me on my new four-wheeler and revs the gas, vaulting us up out of the ravine and out of the mud. I gasp, leaning back into him and my stomach dropping to my feet as I clutch his forearms to steady myself. I laugh.
“Well, if you’d wear the helmet…” he says.
“But I can’t see in the helmet.”
We’re mudding. It’s not like we’re cruising at thirty-five miles an hour out here. I don’t need a helmet for this. And plus, I’m just learning how to use the quad today. He’ll be lucky if I top out at twelve miles an hour.
But if I won’t wear the helmet, then he won’t let me drive it alone until I’ve been given proper instruction. Hence, the driver’s ed lesson.
We race across the bank, mud splattering all over my new red ATV, my boots, and jeans. I also feel a few drops of something cold periodically land on my hair, held out of my face with a baseball hat, and on my shirt.
My finals just ended this week, and I’ve had lack-of-sleep headaches non-stop, but I feel so much better today. I’m glad he surprised me with this. A day of him, fun, and fresh air is all I needed.
He’s been so great through my bad moods the past couple weeks as I study, making me snacks and doing well to not distract me while I get work done.
Although he did come into the library—my old bedroom—and tempt me with a quickie here and there under the guise that I needed a study break.
Yeah, okay.
I smile, remembering him walking in while my nose was buried in a book, pulling off his shirt, and telling me he’s going to get a shower, but I know what he really wants, because he knows the sight of him in only jeans is my frickin’ porn. I didn’t put up a fight. I never do. I want him just as much as he wants me.
But now finals are over and so are classes until next fall, and I’m all his.
His truck is parked ahead, and his ATV still sits on the attached trailer, clean and shining just like new.
He pulls to a stop and turns off the motor, burying his lips in my neck and kissing me.
“I have a present for you,” he teases.
I turn my head, grazing my lips over his cheek. “You already gave me my present.” I run my fingers over the handles of my new four-wheeler and also remembering the orgasm I got at six a.m. this morning. It’s been a very good birthday so far.
“The four-wheeler was just an excuse to get myself one, really,” he explains.
I nibble his jaw. “So, what is it then? More antiques for my collection?”
“Cassette tapes aren’t antiques, Jordan,” he states firmly.
I laugh. “You’re right, you’re right. They’re considered classics. Like cars over thirty years old. Like you!” I chirp. “You’re a classic.”
He clamps his hand over my mouth, stifling my laughter and shaking his head. He’s not offended by my running joke. I only tease him about his age, because he still thinks it’s an issue, and I’m trying to lighten the mood.
And to a few people around town, it is strange. But they mean nothing to us. Cole, my sister, and Shel have all come around, albeit Cole a little slower than the others, but they’re all that matters.
I bite at his fingers on my mouth, playing, but suddenly, he holds up a small, black leather box in front of me, and I stop.
My face falls, and I’m no longer laughing.
Lowering his hand from my face, he remains silent as I stare at the case, a million different thoughts running through my head right now, but I can barely hear them, because the pulse in my ears is deafening.
Oh, my God. It’s not a…ring, is it? I mean, we haven’t talked about this.
I always hoped it would come to this, but Pike doesn’t take big steps without a little help. I had no idea…
