Page 23 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

Hayes

E njoy the view,” she said. What if that view is the one I’m supposed to avoid?

Josie jogs off to catch the souvenir-slash-beverage cart, her flowy dress bouncing to reveal more of the thighs I can’t stop thinking about with every carefree stride.

Her cowgirl boots are sexy enough without that view, and yeah, driving me crazy.

But not in the way she thinks. Whoever told her she’s too much or annoying needs a good, hard punch to the face.

It’s not just her beauty. That’s too easy. It’s what she does to me with those eyes when she laughs or sees through my defenses. It’s like she knows all my secrets and my authentic self—the person I am with my family.

She rotates my way and catches me looking. But her reaction isn’t to retreat into herself or pretend she didn’t notice me. She fucking smiles .

Resisting her will be the end of me.

For a reminder about why I’m torturing myself, I text a selfie of me with the stage in the background to Ava and Mom.

Me: Attend concert [check emoji]

Me: Melody James and Sawyer Billings. Heard of them?

Mom: Hi, honey. Ava’s sleeping.

Me: Everything OK there?

Mom: I hope so. She’s off today. Doctors said she’ll have good days and bad, but this feels different. Don’t know why.

Me: Trust your gut. It’s never wrong. Take her in .

Mom: I will. Hoping some rest will help.

Me: Keep me posted.

Mom: Always. Great photo. Everything going well with you?

Me: Yeah. I feel guilty having fun while she’s struggling.

Mom: That’s the whole point. You’re uncovering your spark, dear. It’s what she wants.

Me: What do you mean?

Mom: What she couldn’t put into words is that she thinks you sacrifice too much. You live alone. You give your time and body to others like it’s not yours. You don’t have anyone besides us, and that’s not fair. She wants you and the girls to be happy.

Me: What am I supposed to do? I have a job that doesn’t allow me to live like everyone else.

Mom: Just let people in, honey. You never know what will come of it. People need people. It’s life, and you’re only living half of one.

Me: Damn, Mom.

Mom: When things get difficult, that’s when you should evaluate your life. Make sure you do that on this trip. AND HAVE FUN .

Me: I am. It’s impossible not to with Josie around.

Mom: Good. I like her already. Do you?

Me: Not answering that. She’s Jordan’s sister.

Mom: And?

Me: Whether I like her or not is irrelevant.

Mom: But do you? All roadblocks aside.

Me: Yeah.

What the hell? I can’t believe I just admitted that, but ironically, I feel lighter for putting it out there. Whether I can act on my desires for her or not, at least the guilt feels less like a brick in my chest.

Mom: I’m happy for you.

Me: Don’t be. The roadblocks don’t disappear just because I want them to.

Mom: Maybe, but they can be shifted long enough to figure out if trying to eliminate them is worth the effort.

Mom: Test it. Talk to her. If she feels the same and you both want to explore your connection, then you address the roadblocks together.

Me: Testing is still betrayal. I’m not built to do what I know is wrong and ask for forgiveness later.

Mom: Following your heart is never wrong. If Jordan’s a true friend, he should know you’re a better man for his sister than 99.99% of the male population.

Me: Maybe.

Mom: She would be lucky to have you. And I suspect she already knows it.

I check on Josie and she’s coming this way, one hand hidden behind her back. That’s never a good sign.

Me: Gotta go. Love you.

I tuck my phone away as she drops to the blanket between my out-stretched legs. With Mom’s encouragement on the brain, I’m gravely aware of how close she is . . . and on her kneesfor fuck’s sake. She could place a hand on my leg just by reaching out, and I could do the same to her .

I’m desperately searching for a way to retreat without hurting her feelings when she holds out a beer bottle.

“Thank you.” I take a long drink, and the smooth liquid goes down like a cold shower. “What are you hiding?”

“Since you forgot your hat, I got you a replacement.”

“Josie.”

“Hayes,” she says with a southern drawl and bright smile.

She reveals a kid’s plastic cowboy hat—tan, glossy, and completely absurd.

“You didn’t?”

“Oh, you bet yer Wranglers, I did.” She lifts the hat to reveal a matching hot pink version underneath. “Got me one, too.”

A real laugh bursts out of me.

Proud of herself, she sets my hat down and hers on her head, securing the thin, elastic strap under her chin. Her blonde curls spill out from underneath. “What do you think?”

“It looks good.” Really good.

“Your turn, Cowboy.”

There is no universe in which I’d wear that thing without a gun to my head. Yet, my hand reaches without permission.

The hat, comically too small, sits high on my head, the short elastic strap dangling under my nose.

Josie’s impatience has her grabbing hold of the thin strap, stretching it under my jaw to secure the hat in place. It snaps, of course, slapping the tender skin under my eye on the recoil.

She squeals, covering her mouth with both hands. “That surprised me.”

“Really? You didn’t see that coming?”

Her hands stay put, trying to conceal how she’s laughing too hard to mutter an apology, until the breeze picks up. My so-called hat tumbles across the grass.

"Oh no!" She drops to all fours, crawling over my leg to catch it.

My eyes shoot up to the sky, the stage, the crowd in the opposite direction—anywhere but down her neckline and over those long, bare legs.

I don’t need my willpower verified again.

Life, as I know it, is a constant confirmation of my fortitude and perseverance.

Still, I may not be equipped to handle this test.

She doesn’t even know the havoc she’s wreaking. Or maybe she does. Maybe she’s a full-blown wildfire pretending to be an ember. That’s the real danger here.

No matter what Mom thinks, letting Josie poke more holes in my world is not the answer. But damn if she doesn’t feel like acupuncture for my soul.

◆◆◆

The music rumbles underground and in my rib cage, but it flows through Josie like water. She moves with the rhythm and sings along with every song—hands in the air, hair swishing across her back, skirt bouncing.

I snap a photo to remember this moment and how beautiful she is in it before she finds me over her shoulder.

Her fingers wiggle in my direction. “Come on.”

I shake my head, but it’s a weak resistance. Watching her, I wonder what benefits holding back has ever rewarded me and can’t think of a damn one.

The next song kicks in, and she marches up to me, grabs my hand, and drags me to my feet before I can argue.

I let her. Of course, I do.

The beat hooks me, and soon, I catch myself moving too.

Not like her—free and fluid—but enough. She spins under my arm, her fingers linked with mine and short dress billowing.

Flashes of all that smooth, tan skin distracts me enough that I don’t see her boot snagging on the blanket until she crashes into me.

I catch her on instinct with my free arm, hers landing on my chest.

A rush of something sharp and demandingwinds through me, making it impossible to breathe right.

My skin buzzes under her touch, and I’m solid everywhere, fighting the instinct to drag her closer.

No matter how badly I wish she didn’t affect me so easily, I can’t stop myself from embracing the tension and her.

I hold on to her tighter than I should, one arm banded around her waist, the other gripping her hand. Her hair brushes my chin, smelling of sunshine and cheap beer and every bad idea I’ve had since we met.

The concert fades to nothing, and all I can process is every detail about her. The amber flecks in the dark pools of her eyes, the line of freckles across her nose, the blush on her cheeks, the rapid pace of her pulse under my fingertips.

More flares sear through me as she absorbs my intensity instead of pushing me in a direction. It’s exactly what I need to keep my cool. My hand is another story. It presses to her back, daring gravity to take her again just to keep her against me.

I want to bury my face in her neck, taste the salt on her skin where it’s flushed and warm.

But I don’t move. Don’t trust myself to.

If I shift now, I might follow through on that desire, and it wouldn't be just a kiss. It’ll be a reckless fire I can’t put out.

And I can’t have her going down in flames with me.

It’s safer to continue swaying, letting her lead. Her hips brush against mine in time with the ballad. It’s probably innocent. Probably. For my sanity, I choose to believe that.

But then her head drops to my chest, reminding me how well she fits there, and I lose my bearings. I’m not someone who overlooks their surroundings. Yet, the feel of her rocking against me, holding me, steadying me has my full attention.

The orange sky bleeds into indigo over the next two songs, but I barely notice. I’m enjoying the moment as best I can when a familiar voice rings out beside us.

A cool rush of air crosses my chest as Josie jumps back.

Melody, the country artist everyone came to see, stands two feet away. After she finishes the last note of the song, her mossy eyes trickle to us, a slow developing smile tugging into place .

“Well, hell,” she says into the microphone with a drawn-out twang. Her painted fingernail waves between Josie and me. “I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever’s going on here.”

Josie gasps, excitement making her wiggle and bounce, but all I can think about is the entire crowd zeroing in on the three of us. The muscles in my back tense. My fists clench at my sides. Where in the hell are Melody’s bodyguards?

“I came down here for a bit of crowd energy,” she says, chuckling, “but y’all are putting off a totally different vibe.” Her hand fans her face. “Lordy. I hope some of that spark rubs off on me.”

Josie’s hands pop up to her mouth, move to cover her stomach, then back to her face again.

“You all right, darling?” Melody asks.

Josie nods, and Melody’s gaze follows my arm to where it instinctively went to Josie’s back. I had no idea that I’d reached for her and lower it fast.

“I bet you are. Don’t stop on my account. It looked like too much fun. Great boots, by the way.” She winks then disappears into the crowd.

All eyes follow her, and my body disengages.

“That was Melody James,” Josie whispers.

“I know.”

“Hayes. That was—”

“Melody James. I’ve been here all night, remember?”

She shoves me, laughing at my lack of enthusiasm. “Best. Day. Ever. ”

“I got that message.”

Shaking my head, I settle back onto the blanket. Though the moment has fractured, the remnants of what exchanged between us still hang in the air. It’s dulled due to the injection of excitement, but that’s probably for the best.

◆◆◆

Hours later, the crowd spills out in every direction.

The concert is over, but Josie’s humming under her breath as if music still plays through the speakers.

I’m doing everything I can to watch out for reckless drunks, vehicles, and snakes along our path, absolutely anything but acknowledging the way her hand brushes mine every few steps.

“Are you trying to summon her back?”

“She was right there, Hayes. She spoke to us.” Her hands stack over her chest. “Melody James liked my boots.”

“She did, and you cried.”

Her jaw drops open, surprised I caught that. “I did not .”

“No? Well, your eyes were suspiciously shiny.”

“Okay, maybe I got teary-eyed, but I didn’t cry. That would have ruined the moment.”

“Totally.”

We fall quiet again, this time with no strain clawing at the edges. It’s comfortable. It’s just . . . us.

By the time the van comes into view, my phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming text.

I stop at the edge of our campsite and check it .

Raidyn: What’s this I hear about you traveling cross country with a woman?

My spine slumps with a long sigh.

“Everything okay?” Josie asks from beside the van.

“It’s just my sister. Be right there.”

Me: I’m giving her a ride.

Raidyn: I bet.

Me: Not that kind.

Kayla: Thank the Lord. I don’t want to think of my big brother having sex.

Jesus. A group chat?

Me: Not anywhere near that.

Raidyn: Too bad.

Veronica: Eww.

Me: Why are you torturing me? It’s late. Shouldn’t you all be in bed?

Veronica: Bedtime before midnight is for old people.

Me: You three make me feel old.

Kayla: No. You and your rules do that. But love you!

Me: Is there a reason for this conversation?

Raidyn: I want to know about Josie.

Me: How do you know her name?

Veronica: Mom tells us everything. You should know this already.

I rub the new throbbing ache at my temples.

Me: There’s nothing to talk about. She’s the sister of a friend and riding along until we reach Vegas.

Kayla: But you don’t like spending that much time with people.

Veronica: True. And we don’t count . . . before you think it.

I was totally thinking it. I enjoy spending time with my family. Or at least, I did before this text thread.

Me: She’s waiting on me. Get to the point.

Raidyn: If you like her, go for it.

If I’d only ignored the first message . . .

Veronica: Totally. If she rejects you, she’s either stupid or blind.

Me: She’s neither of those things.

Veronica: Good. Then, there’s no risk.

There’s plenty of risk. I feel the way her body responds to me and see her eyes lingering longer than they used to. I’d be stupid and blind not to take that for what it is at face value. Encouragement.

She may be secretly reciprocating my feelings or have some curiosities where I’m concerned, but that carries zero weight in our situation.

Raidyn: He’s worried about her brother.

Veronica: Ooooo. Is he scary?

Raidyn: No. He and Hayes are good friends and served together.

Kayla: Shouldn’t that make it easier? They know each other so well.

Veronica: It’s the same as you pining for Steph’s brother. She already said how weird that would be if you two dated.

Kayla: But he’s so H O T.

Raidyn: Stephanie’s older brother or younger?

I watch the girls discuss my life like I’m not here and go off on their tangent, wishing I didn’t have to.

Which, I realize, I don’t.

Me: Gotta go.

Kayla: Making you uncomfortable, big brother?

Raidyn: We’ve only scratched the surface.

Me: I know. That’s why I’m shutting off my phone.

Veronica: We know better. You can’t disconnect from us. You secretly love the attention and advice.

Me: Not this time.

I read test the waters at the start of the next message and shove the phone in my back pocket before reading the rest.

There will be no more testing tonight, especially if it might confirm my suspicion. My system won’t survive it.