Page 102 of Pucking One Night Stand

It’s still mostly dark, but the edge of dawn is bleeding into the sky. There’s just enough light to make out her car, my truck, and a few glinting stars that are still stubbornly hanging on.

I reach into my back pocket, grab my keys, and hit the fob. My truck headlights blink, and its tail lights glow red. The beep is the only sound out here besides the crickets and the soft whoosh of the wind.

She yawns, covering her mouth. “Ugh. Sorry.”

“You look tired.”

She shrugs like it’s a compliment and trudges toward the truck. I walk over and pull the door open for her. She slides in, her legs folding up, and the minute her back hits the seat, her whole body relaxes.

I shut the door and walk around to the driver’s side.

When I climb in and start the engine, she leans over, kisses me on the cheek, soft, barely there, and then sinks back into her seat.

And I’m thinking, do I ask her now? On the way? Outside her dad’s place? When she’s more awake? When she’s less… soft and sleepy and perfect like this?

I pull out of the lot, headlights cutting across a few of the trees. We cruise toward the exit, tires whispering over the pavement.

The security booth is up ahead. I catch sight of the night guard inside, scrambling like he’s just remembered he has a job. He tosses his cigarette out the tiny window, sits bolt upright, and gives a lazy salute as the barrier lifts.

I nod back, foot steady on the gas, and we roll out of the lot into the quiet of the almost-morning.

And the ring’s still waiting in the glove compartment.

I ease the truck down the strip, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over like I’m just adjusting the air vent. But instead, I crack open the glove box and slide my fingers inside until I feel the box. Small. Square. Heavy in all the ways that matter. I pop it out, shut the compartment without her noticing, and drop it between my thighs, pressing it down so it doesn’t bounce into view.

She’s gazing out the window, sleepy and quiet, totally oblivious.

I try to pry the lid open, but it’s being a stubborn little bastard. My thumb slips. The thing jolts sideways. I grab it before it hits the floor.

“Did you want to come in for a coffee?” Cassy turns her head toward me like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

My hand jumps off the box like it just caught fire. “Thanks, I’d love to,” I say, shifting in my seat like I’m not hiding the biggest decision of my life under my jeans. “But I think maybe it might be pushing it a bit too far with Coach... I mean your Dad.”

She grins and lets her head fall back against the seat. She doesn’t push it.

I make the turn onto Obannon Drive, the headlights sweeping over the quiet street. Big trees flash by, and a couple of motion lights flicker on like we’re disturbing something sacred. I slow down, then coast to a crawl, pulling the ring from the box and holding it in my palm.

It feels small like this. Just a ring. But it weighs a ton.

I pull to a stop halfway down the block, far enough from the house that I’ve still got room to breathe. My fingers are tight around the metal, my throat dry.

“Cassy…”

Nothing.

“Will you marry me?”

I glance over. She’s curled into the seat, mouth barely open, eyes completely shut.

Seriously?

I blink at her, then down at the ring. Fiddle with it, let it spin once around my fingertip before I sigh and slip it into my jacket pocket.

Okay.

I ease away from the curb and coast the rest of the way to the house. Kill the headlights. Engine off.

She doesn’t stir.