Tumble (Dogwood Lane, #1)(7)

Leaning against the truck, I look at him. “Jealousy isn’t how I’d describe it. But if that makes ya feel good, go for it.”

“My hobby makes me feel good.” He moves his lips around, like he’s fighting the next words trying to pop out. He does this when he knows he shouldn’t say something but can’t quite convince himself not to. “From the looks of you, I’d say you’re more than jealous. I’d say you’re . . . tempted.”

My tongue presses on the roof of my mouth. “Tempted to what?”

He leans against the truck, too, the gold St. Christopher’s medal he’s worn since elementary school clamoring against the side. The corners of his lips nearly touch the corners of his eyes. He knows.

“Word travels fast, huh?” I say, prodding around to see if my guess is right.

He slow blinks. Twice.

“What?” I ask.

“That’s all you have to say about Neely being back in town? ‘Word travels fast.’ For fuck’s sake, Dane. What’s wrong with you?”

We don’t have time for that conversation.

I sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

“I’d love to have been a fly on the wall for that little run-in.” Penn snickers. “Did you stutter around like I imagine? Or did you not manage to say an entire sentence?”

Working my jaw back and forth, I point a finger his way. “You better stop while you’re ahead.”

He reads me correctly, and his animation drops a notch. “You just stuttered?”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“You say that like it’s new info,” he says, continuing his amusement at my expense. “Really, though. How’d it go? But before you answer that, let me toss out there that I heard sparks were flying all over the diner so hot Claire had to call the fire department.”

I shake my head. “Shut up.”

“Just telling you what I heard.”

“The firemen were there to order food, you idiot.”

He thinks he’s onto something. There’s a glee in his face that means only one thing: it’s going to be a long day around here.

“So, what happened?” he asks, resting his arms over the truck bed.

“You know, sometimes I think you should’ve been a girl with all the gossiping you do.”

“This isn’t gossip,” he contends. “This is Neely-freaking-Kimber, man. Every memory I have of my entire adolescence has her in it. She bailed me out of jail when I was too scared to call my dad and you and Matt were passed out on moonshine. Remember that?”

My chuckle is so hard, it causes my thumb to throb. “I forgot about that. She was pissed.”

“I didn’t prostitute myself. The cop was just pissed off. He wanted to nail . . . What was her name? Claire’s cousin? Anyway, doesn’t matter. He wanted her and I got her first.” He shakes his head. “Neely came through, though. God, I miss her.”

Those last words echo through my mind.

I have shoved her out of my head for the last few years. Took over Dad’s business, took care of my business. Trudged forward without her because that was the only choice I had. I hardly even think about her anymore unless someone brings her up in conversation.

So why do I itch to crawl into the truck and hunt her down?

Because I’m a fucking idiot.

My hand squeezes my finger harder.

“I gotta get back to work,” I tell Penn, shoving away from the truck. “So do you.”

“Wait. You haven’t even told me anything yet.”

“What do you want to know?” I ask. “I went into the café for a cup of coffee. She came in. We said hello. She left.”

He looks nonplussed. “And?”

“And what? There’s no more to say.”

“You know how you know when there’s more to say? When someone says, ‘There’s no more to say.’”

Fiddling with the bandanna, I consider that.

Of course there’s more to say. But if I tell him I bought her coffee or noticed the new freckles across the bridge of her nose or thought about her so much in the last hour I wrecked my finger, he’ll never let it go.

He needs to let it go.

I need to let it go.

I wipe my brow again. “She’s visiting for a couple of days. Living in New York. Seems happy.”

“That’s your answer?” Penn deadpans.

“Yeah. That’s my answer.”

He scratches the top of his head. “Really, Dane? It’s like you withhold the good stuff just to be a dick.”

“What good stuff?” I laugh. “You want to know if she’s hot? Hell yes, she’s hot. No,” I backtrack, realizing that’s not quite right. “She’s not hot. She’s fucking beautiful.”

My brain starts to send words to my mouth at a speed my lips can’t quite keep up with. I start and stop four sentences before giving up with a shrug.

“Yeah, you’re fucked.” Penn smiles, but this time, it’s a tiny bit less asshole-ish.

“What are you talking about?” Twisting my hat around backward, I let the sun hit my face. It’ll be a decent excuse for the heat in my cheeks if Penn calls me out on it. “She’s just a girl from my past. I ran into her. People run into their exes all the time.”