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“You never mentioned they were—um—that big,” I squeak.
“They are also, apparently, real mood killers,” he says, his lips twitching.
“Don’t you dare laugh right now, Wyatt Hayes.”
“I am trying very hard not to, Lucille.”
One of the cowsmooagain and bumps up against the side of the truck. And apparently Wyatt is not trying hard enough, because just as I yelp, he bursts out laughing. I’m talking the full-body-shaking-tears-welling-up-in-your-eyes-chest-heaving laughter.
“This isn’t funny!” I squeak, backing up further in the truck.
Wyatt glances back at me, reigning in the laughter when he sees my face.
“Okay, okay you’re right. I’m sorry. Come on, it’s late anyway. Let me take you home.”
I feel my eyes widen when I look at his outstretched hand and the cows that have now successfully surrounded the truck.
“How are we . . . do you expect me to . . . I can’t walk through them!” I shriek.
Wyatt grins at me, wiggling his fingers at me. “Take my hand, Lucy. I’ll protect you from the mean cows.”
I glare at him, even as I slide my hand in his. “What did I say about teasing me?”
Wyatt pulls me to the edge of his truck bed. My legs are dangling off the side, and he lets go of my hand, moving instead to place both hands on my hips. We’re eye level, and even if we are surrounded by terrifyingly big cows, suddenly all I can focus on are those little amber and green flakes in his warm brown eyes. His hands are warm on my hips and my own hands have found their way to his shoulders. He lifts me up and then back down until my feet are on solid ground, his eyes never leaving mine.
A cowmoosagain and I jump, making Wyatt smile again.
“Remind me to get rid of these cows. They’re a real inconvenience all of the sudden.”
Chapter Sixteen
Wyatt
Iwanttokissher. God, I really,reallywant to kiss her. And if it weren’t for those dang cows, I would’ve. I would know what she tastes like, how she’d feel with her body pressed against mine—if her hair is as soft as it looks.
She’s sitting in my passenger seat, leaning over, with her hair brushing against my knee, fiddling with my radio. She’s close enough I can smell her shampoo—a clean scent with a hint of mint—and it’s intoxicating. If she doesn’t slide back in her seat in ten seconds I’m pulling over.
“Are you okay?” she asks suddenly.
I can feel her eyes on me, but I grip the steering wheel and focus on the road.
“Yeah, Luce, I’m good. Whatcha doing with the radio?” I ask.
She goes back to her fiddling, and I feel my jaw tick.
“Um, nothing.”
I snort. “Remember what I said about your lying skills?”
“I don’t have any?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m trying to find our song.”
I feel my lips twitch in a smile as I ask, “What?”
“Our song. I feel like we should have one and I’m trying to find it.”
