Not that I consider what he taught me a waste of time, nope, not one bit.
“Daisy?” He steps closer, his forehead lowering to mine.
“Hmm,” I practically purr. Being so close to him does that to me.
“I don’t ever want you driving my motorcycle again.”
“What?” I pull away from him. “Why not? I wasn’t that bad.”
He doesn’t let me get far because he uses my arm like a yoyo string and reels me back into his body, my palms flattening against his hardened chest. Gosh, he’s so nice to touch. As if he’s a warm biscuit fresh out of the oven, you just need to play with it in your hands, or is that just me?
“Snowflake, you were terrible.”
“Hey now. Terrible is a strong word. I wasn’t that hard on Nancy Drew.”
“I thought we talked about not calling her Nancy Drew,” he counters, light still in his eyes.
“What am I supposed to call her? Harley? That seems so lame. Nancy Drew, now that’s exciting.”
“How is naming my motorcycle after a fictional character who would identify as an amateur sleuth exciting?”
“Because Nancy Drew is exciting and a bit of a mystery, both qualities your bike possesses. I mean, if you were going to be so picky about a name for her, you would have named her already.”
“Who says I haven’t?” He avoids eye contact with me. Oh my goodness, he’s named her!
“You named her? And you didn’t introduce me properly before I straddled her? How rude are you? Gosh, what she must think of me?”
“She was saying you were rude the other day.” His smile stretches across his face in a James Franco way. Sigh.
“She wasn’t saying I was rude.” I take offense. “Now if you ever want me to get on that thing again, you better introduce me properly. You know, it’s not every day I sit on someone. So, a proper introduction will make it less awkward for when I sit on her next.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe, but don’t you want to know the people you sit on?”
“I don’t sit on people.”
“But if you were to.”
“I don’t sit on people,” he repeats.
“Ugh, just tell me her name.”
“So demanding.” He pushes some of my hair behind my ear, his hand lingering, sending chills down my arms. “Snowflake, I want you to meet Veronica.”
“Veronica?” I giggle.
He shrugs. “I had a thing for Veronica Mars.”
Veronica who? A stitch of jealousy takes place in my stomach. He named his motorcycle after a girl he liked? Did she ever drive his bike? Did he ever try to teach her? The euphoria I was feeling just turned bitter. I thought I was special. I guess just not as special as this Veronica Mars girl.
What a stupid name.
Ugh, that’s a lie. Mars is a pretty cool last name, but I want to hate her . . .
I swallow hard and say, “Veronica Mars, huh? Did you guys date long?”
“What?” Carter asks, a furrow in his brow. I’m about to ask again, maybe he didn’t hear me, when his face goes from confusion to humor. Right on cue, his head falls back and he laughs, full-body, from deep within his gut, laughs.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, his neck exposed to me for my viewing pleasure. I hate to admit it, but with each bark of laughter that escapes him, I grow more and more self-conscious over this Veronica Mars girl. I wonder what she looks like. Is she pretty? Of course she is. She had to be someone special for Carter to name his bike after her.
Growing a little tired of his laughter, I say, “I don’t see how this is so funny.”
His hysterics die down. He takes me in. “What? Are you jealous?”
“Jealous? Who me?” I point at myself and then wave him off. “Of course not. I’m not jealous at all.”
Oh my gosh, I am so jealous. Darn you, Veronica Mars, for making me feel like this, darn you.
“Oh, Snowflake.” He cups my cheek again and pulls me close, pressing a very light kiss on my lips, once again sending chills up and down my body, which is a stark contrast to what’s happening inside me. With our lips just a whisper away, he says, “Veronica Mars was a TV show a few years back.”
“A TV show?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Did you really think I would name my bike after an ex-girlfriend? Do I look like that kind of guy?”
Feeling awfully stupid, but relieved, I answer him. “Well, you are moody. Maybe it was a rebellion thing.”
“You are so sheltered.” Laughing some more, he pulls me into a hug, and I take that moment to rest my head on his chest, memorizing the way his chiseled chest feels against my cheek. Loving the way his chiseled chest feels against my cheek. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
Linking our hands together, he walks me over to the fence that I almost ran us into, grips my hips, and lifts me to sit on top. Not wasting any time, he joins me, making sure to sit as close to me as possible.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, looking out into a field of nothing. Thanks to the cool winter months, the ground is brown, no spring life in sight quite yet.
“Beautiful?” I ask, confused. Maybe he’s seeing something I’m not.
“The field. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Okay, so we are looking at the same thing. Seeing the beauty in everything has always been a trait of mine but this, this is a field of upturned dirt.
“Uh, sure?” I ask as a question.
He snuggles even closer and wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. Is this how he is with every girl? Being this close to him, having him touch me so easily as if he’s done it for years, is incredible. I’m trying desperately to not read anything into his tactility. Perhaps he’s just one who likes to touch. He speaks closely into my ear, and his breath tickles. “Sometimes, Daisy, you can’t see the beauty in something right away. Sometimes you have to sit back and hope it grows into what you know it can be. Life is a fucking funny thing. There is so much we want from it. We both desire freedom, but in two different ways. And even though I’d like to say there is a beautiful future ahead of me, it’s hard to see the potential in my situation. But with you . . .” he kisses the side of my head, his lips grazing my skin as he continues, “you have a field like this in front of you, with just as much potential. It may seem like a dirt pile at first, but when you let it grow, when you actively nurture it, it can grow into something of such beauty.” From the side, his arm lifts up, his phone in his hand, a picture displayed on the screen. When it comes into view, I see why he brought me over here. We are in the same spot the photo was taken, but instead of a brown field in the picture, it’s a field of sunflowers, spanning out for yards. Bold varieties of yellow against the bright blue Colorado sky enchant me. It’s one of the most gorgeous pictures I’ve ever seen. “You’re just like this field, Daisy,” he continues to whisper in my ear, “waiting to sprout and bloom.” Kissing the side of my head, he says, “Don’t let anyone stop you from achieving what you want. Got it?”
My eyes fixated on his, I nod. “Got it.”