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I didn’t think about his long-ass legs, though. He catches up with me, and his arm darts out in front of me, pulling open the door. “You don’t have to do that.”
“My momma would kick my ass into next week if I didn’t.” I think it’s more than that. Carol and Raymond Kincaid raised their boys with manners, and it’s just who he is. It’s easier to blame his momma. My brother is the same way. Momma’s boys hiding behind their sweet mommas, making them seem vengeful if they forget their manners.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I mock scold him once he’s behind the wheel and we’re pulling out his driveway.
“Why’s that?”
“Putting the blame on your mom.”
A boyish grin lights up his face. “It’s not a lie. She would be disappointed, but you’re right. I just wanted to get the door for you.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like his words don’t have my heart thumping in my chest like the percussion section of the high school marching band.
I shake my head because I don’t have words. Well, I do, but I can’t seem to find them right now. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any better, Brooks Kincaid calls another audible and renders me speechless.
CHAPTERFIVE
Brooks
“When do you work again?” Palmer asks from her seat in the passenger side of my truck.
“Friday. I’m off again Saturday and Sunday, then go back Monday, off Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and then back for my weekend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.”
“Yeesh. That’s a lot to keep up with.”
“You get used to it. I work every third weekend. That’s always a three-day stretch Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I work twelve hours shifts. My schedule alternates. There really is no rhyme or reason to how I’m scheduled except for the fact that I’m guaranteed every third weekend shift. The other days always vary. They always give me two days off a week. They just might not be consecutive.”
“Do you hate that? Not knowing exactly when you’re going to work?”
“Nah, I’m used to it. I have my schedule a month in advance, and I work with some great people. We all switch shifts for each other. Those who have kids often have events or games, and everyone is always switching. I don’t mind it. It’s nice to have a day off during the week to do things like dentist appointments and grocery shopping. I loathe going, so it’s nice to go when most everyone else is working.”
“You seemed okay today.”
“I had good company.” I don’t glance over at her. I keep my eyes trained on the road in front of me, but I can imagine that light pink blush coating her skin. I grip the wheel tighter to keep from turning to see if it’s there. However, I need to get us there safe, and getting lost in the flush of her creamy white skin isn’t a good plan.
“What about you? I can’t imagine you have normal nine-to-five hours.”
“Not at all. I have to be available when my clients need me. Tonight, for example. They both work but wanted anniversary photos done, and they’re leaving to go out of town this weekend. So I scheduled them for an evening.”
“Lots of weekends too, I’m sure.”
“Some. I try to do no more than two if I can. However, I have to be ready when the work is there. I’m usually at the shop most days, working on edits and being there to handle any foot traffic. Wednesdays are my half days. That gives me the afternoon to run errands. You know when my car doesn’t take a shit on me.” She laughs and the sound washes over me like waves lapping on the shore.
“Dec’s good. He’ll have you all fixed up.”
“I appreciate that. And you. Thank you for today and for letting me borrow your truck.”
“It’s not a problem, Palmer. You’ve already thanked me.” I want to reach over and place my hand on her thigh. Instead, I continue to keep both hands on the wheel. Ten and two like a fucking sixteen-year-old. That’s what this woman does to me.
What I don’t understand is why all of a sudden she’s all I can think about. Why am I bending over backward to help her? Why am I grasping at straws, thinking of ways to spend more time with her? She’s not the first gorgeous woman I’ve had pressed against me on the dance floor.
Why now?
Why Palmer?
I pull into Sunflower Park, and my stomach grumbles just seeing all the food trucks set up. “I’m starving.”
“What are you going to get?” Palmer asks.
I glance over at her just in time to watch as she licks her lips as she stares through the front window at all the trucks. “Everything.” My voice is gravelly, but I can’t seem to stop it. Watching the tip of her tongue trace those pretty pink lips is like leading a man to water in the middle of a drought in the desert.
