Chaos and Control(10)

She grabs her laptop and gives me a sad smile. “Spending the day with Laney.”

“You guys are still besties?”

“Oh, yeah. Super besties. BFFs forever. Totally dude. OMG.”

I sigh and stick my tongue out at her. “If you’re trying to make fun of my generation, you’re way off with the ‘totally dude.’ No one says that anymore. Anyway, how’s Laney doing?”

“She’s got a toddler and is going through a divorce right now, so we’re going to do some girl bonding and man bashing.”

I nod and watch as she slips into her bedroom. Figuring now is as good a time as any, my coffee and I step out into the hall and knock on Preston’s door. I hear no sound from inside and knock again.

The click of the deadbolt snaps, the sliding metal chain scrapes, then finally the door opens. Preston holds the door in one hand while the other arm props him up against the doorframe. He’s wearing gym shorts and a black beater. The muscles I’ve only imagined before now are on display, and it is a glorious sight. Sweat covers his skin; tiny beads roll over dips and curves of flesh. His shirt is soaked. Preston’s chest rises and falls quickly as he fights to catch his breath. I am blatantly staring and am not afraid to do so. When I finally meet his eyes, I find him staring, too.

I glance down and realize I’m still in my sleep clothes—a tiny pair of shorts and tank top, no shoes. There’s nothing I can do about it now. Not that I would want to with the way his eyes linger on my good parts.

“Sorry to interrupt…whatever you’re doing,” I say.

He shakes his head and meets my eyes. “I just finished.” A bead of sweat slides down his neck, rolls over his chest, and soaks into his shirt. I’m staring again as the silence stretches between us.

“Wren?” he asks.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Bennie mentioned that you might be going to Franklin today. I really need to do some shopping. The clothes I’ve been traveling with are slim pickings. And, well, I have some old clothes, but who wants to wear their high school underwear, you know? So is there any way I can get a ride with you?”

Preston looks at the floor between us. “I’ll only be there for a couple of hours. Not long at all.”

“That’s great. Perfect, actually.” I sip my coffee and wait for his answer. My eyes follow the round curve of his shoulder, up the defined muscles of his raised arm, and focus on his fingers gripping the doorframe. The beds of his meticulously clean nails are turning white from the way he’s holding on to that wood.

“I leave at twelve fifteen.”

I smile, victorious. Preston’s wide eyes and the way his chin drops to his chest make me think that he can’t believe he just said that. I act quickly, not giving him the opportunity to change his mind.

“I’ll be ready whenever you need me, Preston.”

He nods and slowly closes the door between us. I’m a little put off that he seems indifferent to my shameless flirting. Preston is such a mystery. I don’t know if he’s not interested or if he’s being overly cautious. Usually, I just go for what I want. But with Preston, it seems that approach might backfire. There’s a sinking feeling in my gut, one of possible rejection, and I don’t like it.

By the time I shower and get dressed, Bennie is already gone. I slide my flats on, throw my bag over my shoulder, and meet Preston in the hall. He looks like a different person now, dressed in a plain black T-shirt, jeans, and Chucks. I want to climb him, like the beautiful man mountain he is, and plant my flag.

“I’m parked out back,” he says.

I follow Preston down the stairs and through the back door. There’s a dumpster in the alley, some flattened boxes, and a couple of crates. Under Bennie’s covered parking spot is a stunning dark-blue vintage truck. I follow the curves of this beast, sliding over shiny chrome and round fenders. It’s fantastic. The pair of us reflected in the bumper makes me smile.

“Is this your ride?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Preston answers, pulling out a pair of Ray-Bans from his front pocket and sliding them on. “Been working on it since I was fourteen.”

“Wow.”

He walks to the passenger door and swings it open for me. I give him a smile and hop up onto the bench seat, dropping my bag on the floor. Preston shuts the door, walks around the front of the truck, and climbs in behind the wheel. He snaps his seat belt into place and tugs on it. It looks like he’s not satisfied, because he unhooks it and slides the metal back into the buckle. Preston tugs again, and a sigh escapes his lips. He repeats the process three more times as I watch his frustration grow.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, both hands on the wheel now.

“No apologies, Preston.” I click my seat belt into place.

When the engine roars to life, I really appreciate the beauty of this truck. Preston’s posture is tense as he backs out of the space. Soon we’re out of Crowley, heading west on Highway 70. I roll my window down and hang my arm out of the truck. The wind whips through the cab, making my shirt flap around me. Preston looks over, and even with his sunglasses in place, I can feel his eyes on me. In this truck with him, I feel more free and content than I have in a long time. Even the sight of those loathed crop fields does nothing to squash my giddiness.

“What did you do yesterday on your day off?” I ask.