Page 14

Lainey

I shouldn’t have been surprised he texted me back. I was the one who started it, after all. But still, seeing Hey, babe pop up on my screen nearly knocked the wind out of me.

It was just two words. Nothing poetic. Nothing even remotely dramatic.

But babe . Babe was a lot for someone who hadn’t been in my life for sixteen years and then showed up again to watch tow truck drivers on my couch while I fell asleep.

I stared at the screen for way too long.

I needed to respond. I wanted to respond. But what the hell was I supposed to say?

I’m lonely, come over.

Lottie left me again and I don’t know what to do with myself.

Or the most humiliating and honest: I’ve been thinking about you all week and I want to see you.

Yeah, no. Definitely not going with that one.

Instead, my fingers typed out the dumbest, most Lainey-brand thing I could think of:

Want to watch some tow truck drivers with me? Pizza?

Brilliant. Just sheer Shakespeare-level brilliance.

I tossed the phone onto the couch and immediately face-planted into the pillow beside me.

“You’re an idiot ,” I screamed into the fabric, the sound muffled but full of despair.

The ding of my phone made my stomach flip.

He was either telling me to get lost or, by some divine miracle, charmed by my awkwardness.

I sat up and grabbed the phone like it might disappear if I didn’t act fast. It had last time…

On my way.

Ope. Guess awkward charm was still in style.

My smile tugged wide across my face until I looked down at myself.

Ratty old sleep shorts and an oversized black shirt that used to be my favorite but had somehow developed a hole near the hem. Barefoot. No bra. Hair a mess.

Last time Duane came over, I didn’t even have pants on, but at least I thought I looked cute. That had been wine-induced confidence.

Tonight? I looked like a single mom who had given up the second her daughter didn’t want to hang out with her anymore.

I mean… that wasn’t wrong .

But now I had a hot biker on his way over to watch reality TV with me. Talk about a one-eighty.

I bolted off the couch and power-walked to the bedroom. I didn’t have much time, but I couldn’t exactly greet him looking like I’d just finished crying into a bag of tortilla chips.

I stripped out of the shorts and grabbed my favorite cutoffs from the dresser. They were the perfect length—just enough to feel a little sexy without looking like I was trying to relive spring break from 2008.

I pulled them on, then turned to my closet. “And what about the shirt?” I mumbled to myself and yanked hangers to the side.

I was a T-shirt kind of girl. Always had been. But I did own a few nicer tops—ones I rarely wore unless I was going to something fancy , like a PTO meeting or jury duty.

I dug to the back of the closet and pulled out the tiny section of “non-T-shirts.” Four contenders.

The first was a white button-down. Too formal. Too teacher conference .

The second was a silky, flutter-sleeve top that might’ve worked… if I wasn’t wearing cutoffs. It gave “I work in HR” and “Please don’t wear flip-flops to the office.” Immediate no.

“Maybe the shorts are the problem,” I said and held the flutter-sleeve shirt up in front of the mirror.

I shook my head. The shorts were staying. They made me feel good. The shirts would just have to catch up.

That left me with two tanks—one black and flowy, the other yellow and tight-fitting.

I looked at both.

“Black tank top it is.” Tight-fitting was not at all in my vocabulary tonight.

I yanked my oversized tee off and pulled the black tank over my head, adjusting the straps. It was soft and hit right at my hips, just enough shape without clinging to every single curve.

I glanced in the mirror and exhaled. “This is as good as it’s gonna get.”

I found my leather sandals by the door and shoved my feet into them. Comfortable, cute. Solid combo.

Looking myself over one more time, I gave a small nod. “Yup. This will do.”

I looked like I could be heading out to meet a friend for lunch. Polished just enough to say I tried, without looking like I put a whole runway show together to binge-watch Highway Through Hell .

Just as I flicked off the bedroom light, the doorbell rang.

My heart leapt.

The man was quick .

I walked down the hallway with my palms sweaty and heart thudding a little harder than necessary for a Friday night hangout. I hadn’t even ordered the pizza yet.

Shit.

I opened the door—and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Hot damn .

Duane stood there like a denim-clad daydream, wearing his leather club cut over a plain fitted tee that clung to his chest like it had a crush on him. Light-washed jeans hugged his hips just right, and his black motorcycle boots were scuffed in that effortless, lived-in way that somehow made them hotter.

“Hey, babe.”

I blinked. Hard.

Focus, Lainey.

I looked up at his eyes—those rich, dark eyes that had no business being that intense. He was all warm danger and quiet comfort, and it was ridiculous how unfairly good-looking the man was.

“Hello,” I blurted. I cringed. “I mean… hi. Hello.” I rolled my eyes at myself. Cool start, Lainey. Very smooth.

A slow, sexy smile spread across his face. Of course, he knew exactly what his presence did to me. The man had eyes. And ego.

He stepped inside without me even having to invite him as his gaze slid slowly around the living room.

“No pizza yet?”

I blinked again. “Oh. Uh. Is there a place you like to order from?” I asked and moved to close the door.

Lottie and I had tried a few different places since moving to Mt. Pleasant, but I figured Duane— Dice —would know the best of the best when it came to grease and cheese.

He looked back at me with a lopsided grin. “You trust me to pick the pizza?”

I tilted my head. “I trust your stomach, sure.”

He chuckled. “Alright. I’ve got a spot. You want your usual?”

I opened my mouth, then narrowed my eyes. “What do you think my usual is?”

He shrugged and looked entirely too confident. “Pepperoni and black olives. Maybe mushrooms, if you’re feelin’ dangerous.”

I gaped at him. “Okay, that’s creepy. How do you remember that?”

He smirked. “You’re hard to forget, babe.”

He pulled out his phone like he’d won the world’s easiest bet and began tapping in the order.

I stood there like an idiot, watching him—broad shoulders under black leather, strong hands scrolling on a cracked phone screen, looking completely at home in my entryway.

Just like that, I knew I was in trouble.

And I didn’t want to stop it.

“Pizza should be here in twenty minutes,” Duane said, and slipped his phone into his pocket. “Dee’s makes the best pizza in town.”

I nodded and shifted my weight against the counter. “Good to know. Lottie and I were less than impressed the last time we ordered pizza. She said it tasted like cardboard.”

Duane chuckled, and for a moment, we just stood there in silence. It wasn’t awkward. It was… comfortable. Easy. Just like it used to be, back when all we had to worry about was passing our history tests and scraping up enough gas money to get out of town for the weekend.

“So,” I drawled, and glanced over at him, “what have you been up to?”

He gave a small shrug. “Little of this, little of that,” he said vaguely. “Busy dealing with some club stuff.”

I nodded. That definitely sounded important, but also very off limits . “Nice,” I said, even though I had no idea what I was supposed to do with that response.

“What about you, babe? You get your painting done?” His gaze wandered around the living room, noting that nothing had changed.

I laughed. “I’ve bought the paint. Now I just need to actually do the hard part.” I walked to the fridge and pulled out a beer and a bottle of water. “I’m hoping to work on it next week. Took off Wednesday and Thursday to hammer it out.”

“No wine tonight?” he asked, raising a brow.

I handed him the beer and shook my head. “That’s a negative. Clear head tonight.”

He cracked the bottle open, then leaned back. “What do you do for work?”

“Marketing,” I replied. “I work freelance for a few companies. They keep me busy.”

He smirked. “No clue what that actually means, babe, but I’m sure you’re great at it.”

I gave him a lopsided grin. “I make a living, so I must be doing something right. What about you?”

“The club and the garage keep me plenty busy.”

I tilted my head. “You don’t have a job?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I do. I work for the garage the club owns. Mechanic.”

“Ah,” I said with a nod. “That feels very on-brand for you. You were always working on your truck.”

He laughed harder at that. “That’s because it was a piece of shit. I didn’t have a choice but to work on it or push it everywhere I wanted to go.” He pulled out one of the stools under the kitchen island and sat.

I leaned against the counter across from him, closing the space between us just a little. “Yeah, I remember breaking down on the side of the road with you more than once.”

He grinned. “I think we had more good times broken down than most people have on planned dates.”

He wasn’t wrong. For some reason, with Duane, it had never mattered where we were. He always made things feel like an adventure. Something Lee had never managed to do—not once.

“What are you thinking about, babe?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied my face.

I blinked and gave a small smile. “Nothing. Just… life, I guess.”

His lips curled. “That sounds like the perfect setup for me to ask what you’ve been doing the past fifteen years. I know you’ve got Lottie, but something tells me there’s a lot more to your story.”

I looked him over. “I don’t know. Judging by all the tattoos, I think your story is a lot more interesting.”

Duane glanced down at his arms and smirked. “These? Most of ‘em are just dumb shit I got on drunken nights or stuff I thought looked cool.”

I grinned. “Still more interesting than my filing cabinet full of overdue bills and old birthday cards.”

He laughed, then asked, “So what did you do when you left Enid?”

I leaned back against the counter and folded my arms. “Not a whole lot at first. I went to OCU. The first couple of months were good. I was making friends, enjoying being on my own… then I met Lee.”

His expression didn’t change, but I could tell he was listening harder.

“We met at a frat party. Went on a few dates. He seemed like a nice guy. Then, boom—I was pregnant.”

Duane blinked, but still didn’t react much. I appreciated that more than I could say.

“We got married the summer between freshman and sophomore year. Lottie was born in August. I somehow managed to finish college.”

“Damn,” he muttered, taking a slow sip of his beer. “That’s a lot all at once.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Lee’s mom, Maggie, was amazing. She helped with Lottie, watched her while I was in class, and gave me whatever support she could.”

He tilted his head. “Lee couldn’t watch her while you were in school?”

I hesitated. “He was still in school too.”

Duane didn’t look convinced.

“Only had classes three days a week,” I admitted. “Still… he couldn’t be bothered.”

Duane sat forward. “I would’ve dropped out and taken care of our kid while you got your degree.”

My heart clenched a little at the simplicity of his words. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, Lee didn’t think like you,” I said softly.

Duane snorted. “Clearly. Since he fumbled you.”

Fumbled me. That was putting it very mildly.

“So, what happened after you graduated?”

I let out a long breath. “I found a job. Maggie kept helping with Lottie. Lee struggled to find work, and he wasn’t exactly trying.”

“You’re still sugarcoating it,” Duane said.

I shrugged. “Habit.”

“Don’t protect a man who didn’t protect you.”

That landed harder than I thought it would.

“The only good things I got from Lee were Lottie and Maggie,” I said honestly. “I lost count of how many women he cheated on me with. About two years ago, he got serious with someone named Stephanie. She didn’t want me around. Tried to shove me out of the picture.”

Duane’s jaw tensed. “And?”

“And I wasn’t about to let that happen. Maggie helped me pack up and leave. She wasn’t on board with any of it, either. So I took Lottie and got the hell out.”

He nodded slowly. “Surprising a good woman like Maggie raised someone like Lee.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I always wondered how that happened.”

He gave me a long look then. Not pity. Not judgment. Just… understanding.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t think I ever stopped being mad at myself for leaving you.”

I blinked at him, startled. “Duane…”

He shook his head. “I didn’t know what I was doing back then. Thought I needed to get out of town, find something else. I didn’t know that I’d already had it.”

A lump formed in my throat. “It’s okay. We were kids. We didn’t know anything.”

He leaned forward, eyes steady. “Still. I should’ve fought harder for you.”

The sound of a car pulling up out front broke the moment.

We both looked toward the front door.

“That’ll be the pizza,” he said, standing up and finishing the last of his beer.

I gave a small smile and moved to grab my wallet. “My treat.”

“Nope.” He shot me a look. “You invited me to watch tow truck drivers. Least I can do is cover the food. I paid for it online.”

I shook my head but let him have that one.

Duane stepped back into the house, pizza box in hand, and his grin smug like he knew damn well what kind of magic he was carrying in that cardboard square.

“You want to watch TV while we eat, or eat at the island?” he asked, shutting the door behind him with his boot.

“Um…” I glanced toward the living room. “We can eat in front of the TV.”

He nodded, and I headed for the kitchen to grab a couple of plates while he made his way to the couch. By the time I joined him, he had set the pizza down on the coffee table and flipped the lid open.

“Oh wow ,” I gasped, as the smell hit me like a brick wall of garlic, cheese, and perfection. “That smells amazing. Lottie and I are definitely ordering from here from now on.”

“Told you,” he said, reaching for a slice and laying it onto a plate. He handed it to me with a little smirk. “You won’t be disappointed, babe.”

I took the plate, still mesmerized by the aroma, and sat beside him on the couch. I brought the slice to my mouth and took a bite, and I actually moaned. “Oh my god ,” I said through a mouthful. “This is incredible.”

Duane chuckled and grabbed a slice for himself. “I wasn’t lying, babe.”

I got up to grab our drinks from the kitchen and returned with another beer for him and my water. I handed him his bottle as I sat back down.

“Fire up the tow truck drivers,” I told him.

He grinned and grabbed the remote, flicking through the options until he landed on Highway Through Hell . He hit play on the next episode, and the show jumped right back into chaos: wrecks, snowstorms, and the heroic rescue of a jackknifed semi.

“There are a lot of episodes,” I said. “We’re going to be watching this for a while.”

If you want to keep watching them with me , I almost said, but kept it to myself. My stomach was full of butterflies—and soon, pizza.

We ate while watching the show and sat side by side like it was the most natural thing in the world. It didn’t take long before slice after slice disappeared, and we demolished the entire pizza without either of us realizing just how much we’d eaten.

I leaned back and rubbed my stomach with a laugh. “I can’t remember the last time I ate that much pizza. Lately, Lottie’s been a bottomless pit, eating me out of house and home.”

Duane laughed and brushed a crumb from his shirt. “Rocky’s been the same way. Olive keeps hollering at him to get out of the kitchen.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m hoping Rocky is a kid and not one of your friends.”

He nodded. “Rocky’s Olive’s son. She’s Cue Ball’s ol’ lady.”

I blinked slowly. “My brain is struggling to comprehend all of those names at once.”

Duane tipped his head and grinned. “Yeah, I guess none of them are your average run-of-the-mill names.”

“I’m assuming Olive and Rocky are their real names. I’m going to have to meet Cue Ball’s mom if she named him that at birth.”

Duane laughed. “Road name, babe. Don’t ask me what his real name is, though.”

I smiled. “If I ever meet him, I’ll be sure to ask.”

“Not that he’ll tell you. Most of the guys kind of forget their real names once they get their road name. Feels more like you than the one your mama slapped on a birth certificate.”

“Is that a badass biker thing to do?”

He nodded. “That’s exactly a biker thing.”

I laughed and leaned forward to flip the pizza box closed. “Got it.” Then I looked over at him again. “So how old is Rocky?”

“Twelve? Maybe thirteen?” Duane shrugged. “Whatever age makes kids grow like weeds and eat like garbage disposals.”

“That would be eleven all the way to fifteen. Ask me again when Lottie turns sixteen next summer. I swear that girl can polish off a family-sized meal and still ask what’s for dessert.”

He chuckled. “Got it.”

We kept watching, the episode unfolding with the usual chaos and drama of trucks stuck in the snow, brave operators pulling them out, and storm clouds looming overhead. We sat close—maybe not quite touching, but enough that I felt him beside me with every breath.

When the episode ended, I stood up and grabbed the empty pizza box. “I’ll take this to the kitchen.”

I turned around quickly once I got to the kitchen to tell him I would get the plates—too quickly—and walked right into him.

His arms caught me before I could stumble backward; the plates and bottles he had been holding clattered to the floor. The pizza box slipped from my hands and landed beside them.

He was holding me.

Close.

So damn close.

His arms were around my waist, steadying me.

I looked up at him, and for a heartbeat, we just stared at each other.

“Hi,” I whispered, my voice breathy and stupid and completely out of my control.

His eyes were darker now, full of something that made my stomach flip inside out. “Hey, babe,” he said, voice low and gravelly.

I swallowed, very aware of every inch of him. “I was just going to tell you I would get the plates.”

He smirked. “I had them.”

We both glanced down at the floor, where the mess of dishes and boxes now lay.

“Whoops,” I laughed, the sound breathless and awkward.

His arms stayed where they were, not pulling me closer, but holding me there . As if letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

“I don’t think I’m going to fall now,” I said, voice soft.

“You sure?” he asked, eyes boring into mine.

I bit my bottom lip and my heart was racing. “I mean… my knees are feeling a little weak right now, but I don’t think that has anything to do with me bumping into you.”

His grip around me tightened, and then he did pull me closer. Chest to chest. I felt his breath against my cheek. Mine mingled with his.

“Lainey,” he whispered.

My name. On his lips. That close. It undid something in me.

I didn’t think. I didn’t analyze. I just felt.

I watched his mouth, then looked back into his eyes.

“Kiss me,” I whispered.