Stinger (A Sign of Love Novel)

He turned up the radio a little bit and I leaned my head back, sighing in contentment. I was still sleepy, but riding in the car with Carson, sipping coffee and taking in his delicious smell, filling the car, was nice–peaceful.

We drove on in companionable silence, listening to the radio. Just as I was finishing my coffee, we pulled into the Red Rock Hotel and Casino.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

"This is the perfect place to watch the sun rise," he said. "There's a great view to the east from the top parking deck."

I took my last sip of coffee, trusting him.

It was still dark out as we got out of the car, me stretching. Carson came around to my side and put his arms around me from behind, pulling me close to his body. "Look, Grace," he whispered.

I followed his gaze in the dim light and my breath hitched in my chest as I saw the glowing red sun rising in the sky, casting golden rays of light out to every side. "Oh, wow," I breathed. "I literally don't think I've ever watched the sun rise, Carson. It'll always make me think of you." I said, smiling over my shoulder and nuzzling in to him.

He didn't say a word, just pulled me back harder to his chest and kissed my temple. We stood watching the miraculous display of nature's wake-up to the world for a good twenty minutes, the sun dancing over the mountains as it creeped higher in the sky, the vivid reds and whites of the canyon on full display. It was breathtaking. When the whole sun was showing over the horizon and the landscape was bathed in light, Carson pulled my hand and we got back in the car.

Ten minutes later, after paying at the pay booth, we pulled into the parking lot at the Red Rock Canyon Visitor Center. Carson went to the trunk and grabbed a backpack that I hadn't even noticed him putting in as we got into the car in the Bellagio parking garage.

"No rope and shovel in there, I hope," I said, my eyes moving to his backpack suspiciously.

He laughed. "No, Buttercup. Just some bottled water."

"Whew," I breathed out, teasingly.

He took my hand and we began walking toward one of the trail entrances.

The landscape was mountainous and rocky, the colors bursting all around me as the day grew lighter and lighter.

The rock formations in the distance were rusty red, the cacti vivid green, and the desert flowers on the sides of the trail all shades. The orangy-red, glowing sun in the distance was a backdrop for the beauty all around us.

We walked along in silence for a little while. I was fully awake now, watching the amazing view of Carson's muscular backside in a pair of khaki shorts moving up the trail in front of me. It was as awe-inspiring as the natural wonder around me.

After a little bit, we started chatting. I told him about my sisters, Julia and Audrey, both younger than me. I talked about my dad, how he was still a cop, but was planning on retiring in the next couple of years. I described what it had been like to grow up in the Midwest, in the same house all my life, and what it was like to leave Ohio for the first time at eighteen years old.

I told him about Abby and Brian and how Brian went to Georgetown with me, and that I had introduced them at a school function I had dragged Abby to.

He talked about what it had been like to grow up in Los Angeles, staying in the same city but moving around constantly. He told me about his best friend and roommate, Dylan, who was his snowboarding partner-in-crime and was finishing up his final semester at a computer programming, technical school. Carson said that Dylan was such a computer genius, that he could have taught the classes himself, but in order to get a decent-paying job, he needed the degree.

We talked about everything and nothing, filling each other in on our lives. There was something about talking as we walked, looking ahead at the trail, and not at each other, that made it feel like we could say anything. The boundaries naturally in place when looking someone in the eye were gone, and it seemed even easier to open up. To me, it felt like our own private place away from the world–there it was just me and him, our own stories, what we liked, what we felt, and absolutely nothing else.

I was shocked at how quickly time was going by as we walked and chatted. I glanced at my cell phone in the pocket of my sweatshirt, now tied around my waist, and it was already seven thirty. We stopped and he took a couple bottles of water out of the backpack he was carrying, and we took long drinks from them. He took a couple granola bars out too and offered one to me.

"Where'd you get these?" I asked.

"Vending machine when I woke up this morning," he said. "Always prepared, Buttercup."

I smiled. "Lucky for me," I said, eyeing him. "Why do you call me Buttercup?"

He smiled back. "Maybe because your skin is satiny like a flower petal," and he trailed his fingers up my arm, tickling me lightly. I laughed and shook my head slightly.