Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

I nod. “Yeah. Holy shit. It’s really happening.”

“You got this, Hell-raiser,” she hoots; then I hear the click of her disconnecting.

“I’ve got this,” I mutter to myself, leaving the living room and walking through the big house toward my “wing.” It isn’t technically, but with just Clay and me in the place, the huge six-bedroom house feels too large at times. His room, the master, is on the opposite side of the house from mine, and with so much square footage between us, it often feels like this side is all mine. With both of us often working long hours, we could go weeks without running into each other, because this place is so dang big.

I make quick work of pulling on a pair of short white cutoffs, grabbing the flowy black sleeveless blouse Leigh was talking about. Thankfully, I don’t have to change my bra. The bloodred pushup bra being one of my favorites because it always makes me feel like an irresistible badass when I wear it, and today that is exactly what I want to feel like.

My black cowboy boots with the bright teal design stitched into the leather go on next before I walk into my bathroom and fix my unintentionally messy bun into an intentionally messy bun.

“Well, don’t you look good,” I tell my reflection, twisting to check out my ass.

I lean into my bedroom to look at the clock, an eruption of nervous excitement taking flight in the pit of my stomach. I hope he’s feeling this too. Just the knowledge that I’m going to see him again today is all it takes to keep me awake. I feel like a child waiting for Santa to come in the morning.

One thing’s for sure: with my gut communicating this kind of pure, euphoric excitement, there’s no way it could be steering me wrong. It’s time for me to put the fear aside and not let it stand in the way. I’ll feel it, I’m sure, it won’t just vanish, but I’m not going to allow it to be fed.

I close my eyes, hold my breath, and pray for all I’m worth that this date, the one I’ve been dreaming of for so long, is the start of something one-of-a-kind beautiful.





15


QUINN


“Don’t Ya” by Brett Eldredge

- -

“Bite me, Tate Montgomery!” I screech, jumping when he tosses another worm at me.

“Oh, come on, Quinn. You can do it,” he teases, waving another of those disgusting things at my face.

I cross my arms over my chest and give him a look that I pray screams, If you come near me with another of those slimy fuckers you’ll never see me naked. But of course, it doesn’t. He just smirks, props his fishing pole against the cooler he brought out, and advances, the worm still wiggling between his fingers.

“Tate, I swear to God and all that’s holy, I will shove my boot so far up your ass you’ll never find it. Don’t come near me with that . . . thing.”

“For such a tomboy, you would think you’d grown outta that phobia of worms by now.” He laughs darkly, halting his advance and picking up my pole to murder the worm with the hook.

Dis.Gust.Ing.

“What? Just because I’m a mechanic, I’m automatically a tomboy?”

Tate rolls his eyes and hands me my pole, murdered worm included.

“Has nothin’ to do with your occupation, darlin’. You’re practically allergic to all things girly. And stop actin’ like I meant it in a negative way. Anyway, I happen to have a preference for fresh-faced women wearing short shorts and covered in grease.”

“Oh really?” I ask him in a snarky tone. “Meet many girls like that while you were in Georgia?” The second the question leaves my lips, I regret it. It’s easy to convince myself that there haven’t been any other women in his life—even if he has hinted at brief flings with no commitment. However, crystal-clear confirmation of his romantic entanglements over the last nine years isn’t something I’m sure I want to hear.

“Quinn,” Tate voices, trying to get my attention, but I just shake my head.

I quickly cast my line, looking out at the lake before me, the clouds in the sky peppering the dark water with little white dots. The spot Tate brought us to is one of the most popular fishing holes in Pine Oak, but thankfully today we’re the only ones out here. I’m sure that has more to do with the storm that I can smell getting closer. There’s just something about a hot summer day that carries a whopper of a storm with it. The air comes alive and there’s a dangerous scent to it.

“There wouldn’t ever be,” he finally says after a few minutes, drawing my attention away from the dark clouds in the distance.

“There wouldn’t ever be what?”

“Anyone that could ever come close to the woman you are. I’m a little rusty flirtin’, it seems. I’ll take care in how I say shit like that in the future.”

I feel my shoulders drop, the tension leaving them. “No, I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive. You don’t owe me explanations like that, Tate. We weren’t together, so you weren’t doin’ anything wrong.”

“You might not think I owe you an explanation, but Quinn, I need you to know regardless. You’re right, we weren’t together, but you’ve owned me since I was eleven years old, comin’ to Pine Oak for the first time. I never—not once—in the time that we were apart, gave any other woman what was already taken. So, at the risk of ruinin’ our date right when it’s gettin’ started, I need you to know that. I don’t want to see you lookin’ at me like I might not think you’re enough, Quinn.”

“I didn’t spend the past nine years without . . . scratchin’ an itch,” I tell him, embarrassed.

“And neither did I, Quinn. Get it out now, darlin’, and let’s move on after, sound good?”

“I’m not proud of it.” My words rush out, and I feel the shame of them. I reel my line in, check to see if the murdered worm is still attached, then cast it back into the lake. “I tried to move on, you should know that, but . . . no one was you. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time, though, and even before that, it was pretty infrequent.”

“Sounds like we were both in the same boat. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know, but you need to understand I don’t want to know details, darlin’. You were livin’ your life and I was survivin’ mine. In the end, none of that matters, because we’re gettin’ our chance.”

“My mama . . .” I pause, trying to think of a good way to explain the enormity of damage caused to my head with her shit. “She’s the reason I tried to find what I felt without you around and . . . she’s the reason I stopped.”