Page 44 of Trigger Happy

His nonchalance makes it easier for me to act casual. I press my fingers to my mouth, hoping to wipe away the kiss, but it’s already been seared onto my lips.

23Lawton

Wake up.”

Something hard smacks me in the face, and I grunt. What the hell? That hurt. I crack open one eye and see there’s barely a purple haze over the distant mountains. The sun isn’t even up.

“What time is it?” I mutter, rubbing my face.

“Time for you to get up and grab us some coffee,” Sabrina says. “The espresso machine’s broken.”

I look around the barn to figure out what she threw at me and spot a tennis shoe on the bed. The woman threw a shoe at me. I hold it up. “What? No socks?”

She hurls a bundle of socks my way that I snatch out of the air. “Nice arm.”

“What did I tell you?” she says, tornado-ing around the living room. “We need to get ready. We’re going hiking this morning, remember?”

“Like I’d forget. You reminded me fifteen times last night.”

I actually would’ve forgotten if it hadn’t been for her. I was tracking Arch’s location last night, saw he was at Cibolo Creek Beer Garden, and was reading reviews about their goat yoga when she reminded me.

She bends over to grab her duffel, and her sweatshirt rides up. Sabrina normally sleeps in the baggiest clothes known to humankind, so there isn’t much to look at, except right now I’m getting a nice view of her pale pink panties.

A really nice view.

Which has me thinking about how her body felt pressed up against mine last night, and that has blood rushing south, which has my fists clenching. I don’t want her to have this effect on me.

“Are you staring at my ass?” she bites out, looking over her shoulder.

I yank my gaze up, and I could dodge the question, but admitting I was staring will probably piss her off more, so I say, “Yeah, I was. You’ve got a nice ass. Very squeezable.”

Sabrina throws another shoe at me. “Up.”

That Kiss? It was fake.

“Who were you trying to convince?” I mutter, hopping out of the rental truck after my coffee run. Whoever invented pumpkin spice lattes needs a raise. I kick the truck door with my boot and nearly knock over my tray of Catz Coffee.

That’s been happening all morning.

I couldn’t sleep last night, even with the pillow wall, then Sabrina and I got into it after she woke up because I wanted to snooze my alarm ten times, then I tripped over the steps to the coffee shop, and now this.

“That fucking kiss,” I mutter, inhaling the early Wyoming morning chill. There’s a whiff of something toasty on the breeze.

What the hell was I thinking? And what’s that smell? I sniff the air. Cinnamon? Maybe cardamon? Is it cardamon or cardamom? I jerk my head.

Not the point.

The point is, I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. Or the way Sabrina sucked my tongue between her teeth. Fuck. But every time I look at her, I remember what her mom did. So I told her it wasn’t real, to reinforce the imaginary line between us.

Not line—electric fence.

I wish I had someone to talk to, but Ma would wash my mouth out with soap just for saying Sabrina, Dad’s emotionally repressed—that apple didn’t fall too far—and the only other person I would’ve called is probably covered in maggots.

I pull up my Favorites anyway and click Walker’s name, letting it ring until his voicemail beeps.

“Don’t be an asshole and leave a voicemail. Send a text,” his low, cheery voice comes through the line.

“You remember dollar sangria night at Casa Mona?” I say, resting my hips back against the truck door. “You probably don’t ’cause it was dollar sangria night. Anyway, I kissed Sabrina last night. Yeah, I know, I shouldn’t have done it, but it was better than dollar sangrias.”