“Sorry, Q,” I say with a laugh, giving her a shove. “At least I caught ya.”
She mumbles something under her breath and turns to face me. Regardless of the fact that I know she would never judge me, I still fidget with the shirt and pull down at the shorts that feel like they’re being eaten by my butt cheeks.
Quinn lets out a low whistle through her teeth. “You look hot, Leigh!”
“Yeah, I don’t, but thanks.”
Her green eyes narrow and I know what’s coming. Quinn hates it when I put myself down and isn’t afraid to throw a whole lot of sass when I get started.
“Seriously? You’re gonna stand here, in front of me, and feed me that pile of horse shit?”
“Uh, yeah. I don’t dress like this, Q. You know this. I feel like I’m naked.”
“Well, you aren’t,” she snaps and smacks my hand when I try to untie the knot she’s made in my shirt so I can tuck it into my shorts.
My whole stomach is bare. The tails of my shirt pulled up and tied right under my very unimpressive boobs. I look at her top, the tight red material of her halter covering her chest—the much more impressive chest than mine. She’s got a jean vest on over it, making it so that she’s pretty much covered. Well, except that she’s wearing the same ridiculously short jean cutoffs that I am.
I turn and point to my ass, the one thing I know I got lucky with, then down my leg as I huff in exasperation at Quinn when she rolls her eyes.
“You look great, Leigh.” She ignores my protests and rolls the long sleeves of the shirt up to my elbows, straightens the knot under my chest, and reaches down to hike up my shorts.
“Dangit, Q. I already feel like I’ve got a massive camel toe. They don’t need to be inside my vagina.”
She laughs, bends, and hands me my red cowboy boots. “Here, these will look great with that shirt. Your purple boots would look better, but not with black-and-red plaid.”
I pull my boots on, reluctantly, and hold my arms out for Quinn’s inspection. She gives me a nod and bends to pull on her own brown boots. I stop myself from pulling at my shirt, again, and remind myself that every girl at the party will most likely be wearing less than I am, but that doesn’t do a lick of good to ease the feeling that something bad is coming my way.
“So, tonight’s the night?” Quinn asks, excitement about to bubble out of her.
“I guess so,” I tell her, an ache in my stomach.
“How are you goin’ to do it? I mean, I know the plan, but what are you goin’ to say?”
“I reckon I’m just going to be honest with him.”
“Yeah?”
“Dangit, Q, I don’t know . . . I haven’t thought that much about it. I’ve gone over it time and time again, but everything I can think of just sounds stupid. He’s never even given me the impression that he sees me like that. Plus, I saw Mindy Anne yesterday at the dollar store and she said he was dating Krissy Thompson. I know I told you not to let me back out, but really . . . I’m okay with being the only sixteen-year-old we know that will die alone. And virginal.” I don’t mention the kiss. I haven’t told anyone about the kiss. I’m not even sure I understand it, so I couldn’t say that was his way of showing his interest. But God, it sure felt like it.
She gives a small sigh and wraps her arms around me. “A little dramatic, Leigh, don’t ya think?”
“I’m terrified down to my bones, Q. Of course it’s a little dramatic. All I’ve been thinkin’ about is that I’m quite possibly going to make a huge fool out of myself tonight. I know you said you noticed him watchin’ me the last few times we were down at the lake, but this is a huge step. I just know if I don’t tell him now, he’s goin’ to leave town and who knows what will happen. If I let him leave without sayin’ somethin’, I just know I’ll regret it.”
She leans back, her hands staying planted on my shoulders, and gives me a soft smile. “It’s a huge step, I know, and I’m here every step of the way. No matter what, at least you’re going to try. Come on, let’s get out of here, it’s time to party.”
Ready or not.
We both jog down the stairs, calling out to my mama that we’re leaving, and rush out the front door before she can see our outfits, the screen door slamming against the house in our wake. Thankfully Daddy had been mending a fence back in the west end of our ranch, so he wasn’t here. He’s a lot harder to dodge than Mama. She had been working on her famous pies all day so I knew she wouldn’t be coming out of the kitchen to check on us. Not with the county fair a day away.
Quinn jumps up into the cab of her truck and turns the key. The deep rumble of her exhaust echoes around us when the engine turns over. Placing one booted foot on the running board, I grab the “oh, shit” handle and pull myself up into the passenger seat. If it wasn’t such a long walk through the woods separating our families’ properties, we would have just walked, but I also know she’s eager to show off her truck.
“Did you have to jack this thing up so high?” I huff when I settle in and buckle up.
“I was thinkin’ about addin’ another two inches, that way I could get those thirty-seven- inch trail grapplers I’ve had my eye on.” She looks over at me before turning out of our driveway and onto the street. “What?”
“You know I don’t understand a thing you say when you start talking truck, right?”
She shrugs and I laugh, the nerves letting loose a little. Ever since Quinn got her license last month, she’s spent every second fixing up her 2001 Silverado; the first thing she did being to jack it up and add mud tires. I swear she would live in Davis Auto Works if she could. She’s been begging me to let her mess around with my Jeep, but I’m perfectly fine without it being jacked up to high heaven, thank you very much.
We spend the rest of the ride over to her family’s back pasture singing along to the radio and laughing as Quinn goes out of her way to hit every muddy patch she can find in the dirt road. It had rained the past two days, finally letting up for the bonfire tonight, which means that today Quinn’s spent every second behind the wheel trying to turn her black truck brown. I don’t even bother trying to see out of my window anymore, not with the good inch of mud coating it.
“I hope Jenny Fisher isn’t here. I can’t stand that uppity bitch,” Quinn grumbles as she pulls her truck in line with her brother’s, backing up so that their tailgates are all in line with each other. I laugh when I see Elliott Parker, one of her brother’s friends, jump in front of the truck waving his arms like one of those airport workers directing flight traffic.