“Why aren’t we moving?”
I lift my foot off the brake and get us driving back down the road again with a smirk.
“Would you rather put makeup on in a moving vehicle on a bumpy dirt road?” I ask.
“No,” she replies with narrowed eyes. I can feel her gaze on me, even as I look ahead through the windshield.
“Did you buy that house you’re living in?” I ask as Westridge finally comes into view up ahead. I know pretty much everyone that lives in this town, having grown up here. But the place where Savannah lives was abandoned for as long as I can remember until recently. I never met who moved in before her, and it has me curious.
“No. The girl who owns it has been living in my apartment in the city for a while. We traded. Do you know her?”
I shake my head, flipping up the blinker and turning down the street that the Grants live on. Never heard of a trade living situation, but by the tone of her voice, it seems like it’s working out well for her, so I don’t question it. It makes sense to methat it’s not actually Savannah’s place. It’s pretty, especially the landscaping. But it shocked me when I went inside. It didn’t exactly fit her personality in the way I would have pictured her house to be.
She shrugs and stuffs her makeup back into her bag.
“Her name is Mesa. She’s sweet,” she explains while adjusting the chain of her gold necklace. “Pretty, too. With my string of luck, I thought she was another one of your exes or something.”
The truck slows as I pull it into an open parking spot, and I slowly turn my head with a fake look of shock.
“Oh, now I remember. Yeah, we’ve dated. Bad breakup.” I add in a dramatic cringe and a hand over my heart.
“Oh,” Savvy says under her breath.
“I’m kidding,” I chuckle. “Never heard of her.”
She tries to swat me on the arm, but I’ve already started to get out. I hear a slew of curse words just as my boots hit the ground and I close the door, smiling to myself.
I parked behind my dad’s old red and black blazer. The day Henry sold it to him was one of the best days of his life, and he’s driven it every day since. The amount of times we’ve worked on it in the little shop behind our trailer keeps me smiling.
The same little dent I put in it in high school is still on the corner of the bumper. I’d like to think he didn’t fix that on purpose. Gives it character.
I give it a good once over as I retuck the back of my shirt and walk around to the other side where Savannah is now standing.
But she’s looking around like someone already has eyes on her every move and she bites down on her already worn-down thumbnail. A far cry from how she was when we were still in the truck.
“I don’t know if I can do this. I shouldn’t be here,” she says in a panic. We’re standing on the sidewalk next to a big tree in theirfront yard. I look over to the house, in its seemingly quiet state. I know good and well there is a bustle of people out back, though. The Grants are famous for their get-togethers.
“Don’t be nervous, it’ll be fun,” I try to reassure her. But it didn’t help much because she still looks like she’s second-guessing coming here with me. “Talk to me.”
“No. Let’s leave.”
She turns to walk back to the passenger door, but I grab her hand instead. She huffs as I pull her toward the back of the truck, hidden from the house by the tree.
With one hand, I keep her from running away, and with the other, I pull the latch on the tailgate and drop it down.
“We’re going in there, and before we do, you’re gonna sit here and tell me what’s bothering you so much that your shoulders are almost as high as your ears and your hands are red from wringing them together,” I say as I point to the bed of the truck.
“I’ll do no such?—”
I thought she might say that. In a flash, I cut off her protest by placing both of my hands on her hips and picking her up, then setting her ass down on the edge of the tailgate. I try to be gentle with her, but she still lands with a huff.
I fold my arms and stand in front of her, waiting until she makes eye contact with me. Which takes all of three minutes, but I’m in no hurry.
When her gaze finally meets mine, there’s very little warmth to it. Her scowl is somehow angry and scared at the same time. The more I’m around her, the more I learn. It’s hard to read her but I’m getting better at it.
“You’re pushy,” she says.
“And you’re stubborn. But why are you so uptight?”