Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Speaking of, Beck apparently shook up not one but two whiskey sours, because he pours himself one too.
He passes me a cocktail. “Cheers, Lainey. Thanks for not runnin’. We ain’t an easy bunch, but I’d like to think we’ll make it worth your while.”
“Thanks for the drink.” I tap my glass against his and take a sip.
It’s all I can do not to groan. The whiskey sour is perfect. Just the right balance of sweet, sour, and strong, it glides over my tongue way too easily.
“What’s your secret?” I manage. “That’s delicious, Beck. Wow.”
“Maple syrup. Adds dimension to the flavor, right?”
I take another sip. “I love it. Thank you again.” A pause. “Colton and Dean actually took me out for a ride the other morning.”
“They did?” Beck’s eyes shimmer with a knowing gleam. “I’m happy to hear that. Did y’all have fun?”
“We did, yeah. But Colton… He’s so back and forth. Hot and cold. I can’t figure him out.”
Beck raises his brows. “Only with you.”
“What’s that about?”
“I think he likes you. Likes you likes you.”
My stomach drops. “Stop.”
“I mean it.”
“No way. He’s so damn…difficult with me.”
“That’s just him workin’ through some shit. Not an excuse, but it is what it is.”
I have to catch myself—stop from asking if that shit is the Billie and Ryder thing. Colton confided in me, and while we may not see eye to eye, I’m not about to spill his secrets. Although I imagine Beck has to know that Colton and Billie aren’t getting along at the moment.
“If you say so,” I manage.
“I do say so.” Beck grins. Makes me think he digs the idea of Colton and me hitting it off.
I’m flattered. And slightly terrified.
“Just the fact that he spent part of his day going for a joyride tells me everything I need to know,” Beck continues.
“It was Dean’s idea.” I don’t know why I’m being defensive. Maybe because Beck caught me off guard?
He cuts me a look. “But who really made it happen? Colton coulda easily told Dean no. I mean, he usually spends Sundays cleaning up his house and meal prepping for the week. I’m shocked he didn’t steer Dean in a different direction. My brother doesn’t interrupt his routine for just anyone. Matter of fact, only time I’ve seen him do what he did with you was when Dean broke his wrist back in preschool. Ran out of the barn like the place was on fire. Bad joke, because one of our barns did catch fire back in February—”
“Really?” I say with a gasp.
He waves me away. “That’s another story for another day. But point being, Colt is a man of routine. Man’s always gotta be in control. He thrives in that kind of structure, you know?”
“Is he really thriving, though?” My curiosity is getting the better of me, but I can’t help it. Colton is an enigma I am apparently determined to figure out.
Beck thinks for a beat before responding. “He’s been in survival mode for so long… I’m not sure when that stops, but you’re not wrong in what you’re implying. Hard to tell what actually makes him happy and what he’s doing out of a sense of responsibility.”
Sounds familiar.
“That’s why I think he likes you,” Beck continues. “You had the courage to wake him up from sleepwalking through his day. Yeah, that’s gonna piss him off, but it’s also gonna turn him on.”
My turn to be diplomatic. Steering clear of that last part, I say, “Firstborn problems.” I take a long sip of whiskey sour, a buzz beginning to tingle in the backs of my knees. “I can relate. We put a lot of pressure on ourselves to take care of everyone else.”
Beck raises a brow. “Sounds like y’all might have more in common than we thought, huh?”
“Mmm…well, maybe.” More whiskey. I need it. “Do y’all—you and your siblings—are y’all always trying to set him up with anybody who comes into town, or…?”
Beck laughs, a sound that’s starting to become familiar. “Honestly? No. You’re special.”
“Because he hates me so much?”
“Yes.” Beck grabs a bar napkin and produces a pen from his pocket. “Don’t gotta tell you what’s on the other side of that coin, right?”
It’s easy to make this particular Wallace smile. Colton? Not so much. But maybe I also like a challenge.
He slips me the napkin. Only when I pick it up do I see the phone number written on it.
“Not mine. But his,” Beck explains.
I just stare at the numbers, my body throbbing with awareness.
I tell myself it’s just ten digits. Nothing more, nothing less. But the guy who those numbers belong to—if I typed them in, sent him a text…
What would happen? I feel like the ball’s in my court after he showed up Sunday morning. If I want to, ahem, keep doing whatever Colton and I are doing together, it’s on me to make the next move.