Free Wrangler by Dani Wyatt Page B

every twitch of her cheek, every time that dimple appears.
    “But, how will you get home?”  She scans the road up and down rubbing her lips together, reaching into her purse on the seat inside the truck.  She brings a ChapStick to her lips and rubs it around and around, and I swear I almost lose my mind. 
    Then, like she has no fucking idea what she’s doing to me, she looks at me like nothing is going on here.
    I shrug.  I no longer know how to form words into sentences, so I just smile at her.
    I lean my shoulders and head under the hood.  Her alternator cap is loose, nothing more serious than that, I don’t need a tool to fix it, but I pretend I’m fiddling around and knock the wrench against a few things for effect while I try to calm my heart from smacking around inside my chest. 
    Each time her feet move along the dirt, I take note and I knock around under the hood for another minute debating my next move.  The only words going through my head right now are don’t fuck up.  Do. Not. Fuck. This. Up. 
    “Hop in, try it now.”  I poke my head to the side and she climbs in behind the wheel.  She seems to shine with a light of her own. I’ve never seen anything so perfect and I want to throw her over my shoulder right now.  She may kick and scream a bit, but I don’t give a shit.  She may not understand yet who she belongs to, but she will very soon.
    “Okay.”  She turns the ignition and sure enough it starts right up, but I’m not letting her go.
    “Shut it down, I see something else,” I lie, again, hoping Jesus understands. 
    I wipe my hands on my pants even though I’ve done nothing to get them dirty. 
    With an exaggerated show, I shift back from the front of the truck, stand straight and come around to the open driver’s door.  She’s sitting there side saddle, her feet hanging out the open door, hands folded in the soft fabric of her skirt.
    “What’s wrong?” I see the sparkle in her eyes and the hint of a smile that ignites her dimple and drops of cum soak a spot in my boxers.
    “Not one thing.”  I reach in and capture her hand from her lap, feeling the warmth of her skin between my fingers as I entwine mine with hers.
    “What are you doing?” 
    “Holding your hand.”
    She gives me that mouse-ready-to-bolt look again but she doesn’t pull away.
    I continue. “It was no mistake.”  I look over her shoulder toward the roses.  “Those are all for you.”
    “But I thought you were there with a date.  So, that’s kind of a dick move to give me more flowers than your girlfriend.”
    I look down, fighting my chuckle.  The muscles in my back are tight just trying to keep me from launching forward and covering her with my body.
    She’s digging for information and it sits just fine with me.  The thing I notice is she hasn’t said anything about a boyfriend or a husband wondering why she’s coming home with a basket full of roses.
    “No date, Dove.  Those were friends of Roger’s.”  I gesture with my head toward where the Rover disappeared a minute ago.  “I’m as single as they come.  Haven’t even been on a date in longer than I can remember.  Guess I was waiting for the right girl to come along.”
    “Why do you keep calling me that? Dove .”  I pull her hand toward me, examining it in the moonlight, coaxing her to lean forward.
    What is it about her that lights my fuse like this?  Every time I meet her eyes it’s like a current zaps me.
    “Because.  You remind me of a dove.  Pure and innocent with a look in her eye like she wants to fly away somewhere.”
    She pulls her knees together as my thumb rubs back and forth on the side of her hand.  I give her a little tug, grabbing her attention and holding it with my eyes.
    “Your name tag at the bar said ‘Lori,’ but you don’t look like a ‘Lori’ to me, you look like a dove.”
    “Rachel.”  She blurts it out.  “Lori’s a fake name. I don’t like using my real name