Page 47 of Trigger Happy

She rolls her eyes. “Why? Afraid it’s yours?”

“No, I’d be impressed since you and I never slept together.”

The only thing I want is to ruin you.

I swallow.

“And that is the best bullet I’ve dodged in my life,” she says.

“Your loss. I’m great in bed. Very attentive.”

She snorts. “You? The man who keeps forgetting to respond to his own fake name? Arch called it out three times yesterday before you looked up.”

“I pay attention to the things that matter.” My fists clench on the steering wheel until my knuckles crack. She doesn’t have to laugh about it. I nod to her backpack. “What’s in there?”

“Granola bars, first aid kit, emergency thermal blankets, bear spray, and…” She pulls out what looks like the first cell phone ever invented. “And long-range walkie-talkies. Just in case there’s no service up in the mountains.”

I look down at the only thing I packed—a plastic water bottle refilled with an electrolyte packet. It’s fruit punch, too. My least favorite. I’d be fucked if it weren’t for her. “Good call.”

She fake gasps. “A compliment? From a Montoya? Someone pinch me.”

“You’re in a good mood this morning.”

It’s like that kiss never happened. She doesn’t even seem to care, and damn if that doesn’t piss me off. Sure, it’s been a while since I’ve kissed someone, but it’s not as if I forgot how to do it. I know how to kiss a woman. I felt the way her fingers scraped down my back. I’ve got the scratch marks on my leather jacket to prove it.

“That’s because we actually have something to go off with those coordinates,” she says, ripping open a granola bar. “I mapped out the route on Strava too. It’s about a ten-mile hike, so we’ll get our steps in for the day. Oh, and I was thinking, we should probably come up with some sort of code.”

“A code? For what?”

“In case people are around. Some code that lets the other person know we’re in danger. Like code red, but not colors, because that’s obvious. It needs to be subtle. Something that fits a married couple.”

I wrack my brain. Easy. “What are you wearing?”

“I told you—”

“No,” I say. “That’s the code line. If you’re in trouble, you say…” I think about it. “Black G-string, and if everything’s fine, a pink one.”

“Okay, that’s not a terrible idea, but everything’s fine needs to be nude cotton bikini bottoms, and I’m thinking a ‘five’ could be gingham checkered boy shorts with a pink lace trim. That’s middle ground, right? Oh, and that reminds me. You need to turn on your read receipts, so I know when you get my texts.”

I’m still trying to figure out what the word gingham means when my phone starts buzzing, and Mom appears on the dashboard screen. “Don’t say anything.”

She crosses her arms. “Why not?”

“ ’Cause I don’t want another sermon on how I can’t trust a Chastain, so lips shut.” I press answer on the dashboard screen. “Hey, Ma.”

“Hey, hun! Do you—”

“Hi, Mrs. Montoya!” Sabrina says. “It’s Sabrina Chastain. I’m just in the truck with your spawn.”

The air goes dead still. My ass cheeks clench. I do my best to slice Sabrina with my eyes, but all that does is make her smile feral.

“Lawton, take me off speaker,” my mother says quietly.

I scramble to hold the phone to my ear. “You’re off speaker now, but listen—”

“How could you choose her over Katya? She was an angel,” she cuts across. “She’s the one who taught me the blot, bleach, buff rule to get blood out of carpet. You really messed up with that one, and now you’re with her?”

Sabrina stiffens in the passenger seat, clearly hearing her loud voice.