Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths #4)(36)

“Wait a minute.” I squint to get a better look at their faces. “Isn’t that . . .?”

“Drive!” Reese demands, pulling on her sunglasses and hunching over slightly.

As we pass by, Reese turns away at the same time that I get a good look at the big tattoo on the guy’s shoulder that had been covered by long sleeves before. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I explode in laughter. “Did we just pull the ultimate ‘f*ck you’ on your ex and his new wife?”

Reese doesn’t answer, helping herself to my radio, tuning in to an alternative station. Chris Cornell’s distinctive voice comes on over the speakers.

“Holy shit,” I mutter with a chuckle. “Remind me never to piss you off.” I let her have her moment of silence as I turn onto the highway, while the pieces start to click. It makes sense. Reese had to know they’d be here. And she had to have figured out who the idiot showing up dressed like that would be. Finally, I ask, “How’d you know?”

I don’t think I’m going to get an answer from her. But then, with a heavy sigh, she admits, “Facebook. He messaged me last night. You were right. He was jealous of you. Then she posted something about coming here and, well . . . I couldn’t help myself.” A small, sheepish smile touches her lips as she ducks her head. “Do me a favor, though, and don’t tell anyone.”

I hazard, “I guess it probably hurt, seeing them like that, didn’t it?” It must have. Here I was, thinking how much fun it was catching two people going at it, but for Reese, it wasn’t just two people. It was someone she loved. By the way her mouth is twisting now, it’s someone I’m pretty sure she’s still hung up on.

After a long moment, she admits softly, “It’s not the first time I’ve seen it, but, yeah, it still hurt.” Though I really like her normal snarky side, I have to say that the forlorn side I’m seeing right now makes me want to pull over to hug her or kiss her or, hell . . . I’m seconds away from reaching across the console to hold her hand. That’s when my Bluetooth starts ringing, cutting into the music. A giant “Mama” displays on the screen.

Shit.

Reese looks from me to the display to me. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“I’ll call her when we get to the office.”

As quick as a viper snatching its food, Reese’s hand snaps out and hits the green “Answer” button on my steering wheel.

I groan. “You really are a pain in my—”

“Hello?” My mom’s lax voice sounds out clearly over the speakers.

“Hey, Mama.” I shoot a look of exasperation to my passenger, whose dour mood has suddenly been replaced by a broad smile.

“Who were you just talking to?”

I take a deep breath. This is exactly why I didn’t answer. The only girl Mama has ever met was Brittany Jo, a girl I dated in sophomore year for all of two weeks and got trapped into introducing after one of my football games. And the only reason I remember the girl’s name is because Mama kept asking about her. For at least six months after I ended it by getting caught nailing her twin sister at a party.

Hell, I was drunk and they looked the exact same, except for their clothes, which I probably should have noticed. But her sister never said a damn word when I pulled her into the mudroom.

“Just a friend,” I answer with hesitation.

“Hi, Mrs. Morris!” Reese chirps like an innocent church girl, batting her eyes playfully at me. “My name’s Reese.”

There’s a pause for one, two, three seconds and then, “Why, hello dear.”

Ah, f**k. I hear that inflection. That’s my mom getting excited that some woman may have pinned her baby boy down. She’s going to be searching out china patterns after we hang up, or whatever the hell it is moms do when they think they’re getting a wedding. “Just a friend, Mama,” I reiterate. “We were out at a paintball field with a bunch of other friends and now we’re heading in to work after we grab a bite to eat.” For good measure, I throw in, “She couldn’t drive herself. Her motorcycle wasn’t working properly.” Maybe that’ll turn Mama’s little fantasy upside down.

“Oh, well you two should swing by first! I need you to take a look at the tractor anyway, Ben. It sounds funny and I don’t want to call Bert out here unless I have to. You know how much he charges.”

Swing by? I love my mama, but the grove isn’t exactly down the street. That’s part of its appeal. “Can’t it wait until next Sunday? I have a ton of work to do.”

“I suppose. Though I could have lunch ready for you when you get here . . .” Her voice is thick with disappointment.

“That’s nice, Mom, but—”

Reese cuts me off with, “We’d love to come over, Mrs. Morris. We’ll see you soon.”

“Wonderful!”

Yeah, wonderful. I’m pretty sure I just heard wedding bells in her voice.

Dead Mau5 fills the car as the phone call ends. Reese controls herself for all of five seconds and then bursts out laughing. “You call her Mama? What are you, ten?”

“You know her place is a hundred miles away. You’re now stuck in the car with me for the next two hours.”

Shifting in her seat, she closes her eyes. “Wake me up when we get there.”