20. Paxton

CHAPTER 20

Paxton

“I could’ve met you somewhere. This place is so out of the way for you,” Kali says as she settles into the Jeep, tossing her bag into the back seat.

I shut her door and circle around to the driver’s side. The moment she stepped into the living room and smiled, the way her eyes lit up— damn, I knew this wasn’t a mistake. I want to get to know this woman more. The light missing from her eyes the day I saved her is returning to its vibrant, natural state.

Before reversing, I twist in my seat and stare for a moment longer than necessary. Her cheeks flush pink, and she shifts in her seat. “It’s our first date. I am not making you meet me somewhere. Grams would kill me if I did that.”

Her face lights up. “Tell me about your grams.”

I put the Jeep in drive. “Her and Pops live in Michigan. She’s the glue of our family. Without her, I’d have been in jail right now.”

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “For what?”

I smirk. “Murder.”

“Is this when I should be concerned?” Her voice dances with amusement. She thinks I’m joking. I’m not. But discussing my stepfather wasn’t how I wanted to kick off our date.

As we merge onto the main road, I’m careful with my speed, aware of who’s waiting ahead. “Let’s say…she was the light at the end of my tunnel. Pushed me toward the badge and all.”

“Aw, the classic transformation of bad boy to hero,” she quips playfully.

I give her a sideways glance. “Do I look like a bad boy?” I’m curious about her impression. After all, she’s only been around me twice. Her laughter fills the Jeep, and I find myself drawn to it.

She shakes her head. “Nah. The badge kinda ruins the rebellious image,” she teases, glancing over with a grin. “You have the mysterious vibe, sure, but you’re too…what’s the word? Sweet? Yeah, too sweet to be a bad boy.”

“Sweet?” I arch an eyebrow, taken aback. Being called sweet is a first for me. “That sounds close to soft.” And I am not fucking soft.

“No, not soft. Sweet as in respectable. In a good way,” she clarifies. I suppose with her, sweet isn’t a stretch. She brings out this protective instinct in me I’ve never had for a woman. Usually, they’re storming out, hurling insults like self-serving, narcissist, and arrogant. Those are the words I’m used to. Not sweet.

“We’ll see if your opinion stays the same after a couple of months.”

“Really? How can a man who loves his grams be anything but?” She pokes me in the shoulder. “You’re trying to seem like a badass. But I see the real you.”

That’s my biggest fear.

“All right. All right. We’re done talking about me. Let’s talk about you. What was life like in Blackburn? And what brought you here to Austin?” The night at my cabin, she kept our conversation light, focusing on the cabin and its renovations. Oh, and the horse. She talked a lot about him. The way he made her smile, it made me a little jealous. I want that smile when my name comes out of her mouth.

Tonight, I want her to open up to me.

“I was born and raised in Blackburn. I was a waitress at the lovely Wallflower Diner.” She pauses, her attention drifting out the window. There’s a moment of hesitation, as if she’s carefully choosing her words. She continues without meeting my eyes. “My dream was always to leave town and go to college, so I saved until I could make that happen.” She lets out a sigh and twists in her seat toward me. “And then everything changed.”

She’s holding back. There’s more, something she’s not telling me. But I don’t want her to focus on the night everything changed, so I ask, “What colleges are you considering?”

Her lips curve up, and I can tell she’s excited. “The University of Texas.” She beams.

“Good thing you’ll look cute in burnt orange,” I tease, throwing up the Hook ’em Horns hand signal. “I wore it non-stop for four years.”

“Did you go there?”

I confirm with a nod. “Yep.”

She dives headfirst into a barrage of questions about my time there. As I’m telling her about my fraternity days, I sense a shift in her energy. Her body tenses. We’re almost to Austin, and as expected, there is heavier traffic. I glance over, and she’s sitting on her hands, biting her bottom lip.

“You okay over there?” I ask, curious about the sudden mood swing.

“It’s like everyone goes out driving at exactly the same time,” she exclaims. City driving can be a nightmare, even for seasoned drivers. “And you drive with such ease, I’m jealous. When I’m behind the wheel, I’m gripping it for dear life, my foot hovering over the brake, swearing up a storm that everyone is out to get me.” I chuckle, picturing her. “They are!”

I guess she didn’t come to the city very often. “You get used to it,” I assure her as Luke Combs’s “Fast Car” plays in the background.

She tries to relax and taps her thumb against her bare thigh to the beat, and I find myself distracted by the sight of her long, tan legs. For someone so short, she’s all legs. I force my eyes back to the road.

“I hope so. So, are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Not big on surprises, are you?”

Brake lights flash in front of us, and she slams her foot against the floorboard. I press my lips together to hold back my chuckle, easing the Jeep to a gentle stop. She exhales sharply, as though we narrowly avoided an accident. It wasn’t even close. “Do I need to install a brake pedal over there for you?”

“Only if you’re aiming for a case of whiplash,” she jokes and cranes her neck to look at the small fender bender wreck that was causing the slowdown. “Do you report that?”

The people gather behind their cars, exchanging information. “Looks like they have it under control. They’ll call it in if they need to.” As traffic clears and I hit the gas, her shoulders relax.

We drive by a billboard advertisement for a restaurant on Lake Travis, and she asks, “Are we going to the lake?” Her question hangs in the air, and I respond with a grin. She lets out a playful huff that I won’t tell her. She’ll figure it out soon enough.

Not long after, off to the left, through the tall trees, glimpses of the lake come into view but are then hidden again as the road snakes along hilly terrain. There’s a comfortable lull in the Jeep as music continues to play in the background.

As we reach the marina, her voice lifts an octave when she asks, “You have a boat?”

I park and turn off the engine. “I wish. It’s a buddy of mine’s. He lets me use it, and I let him hunt at the ranch in the winter.”

Her head whips around, and her bottom lip sticks out as she pushes my bicep. “He better not kill Riggs’s girlfriend.”

I turn in my seat. How should I say this without offending her? Women seem to have bleeding hearts when it comes to hunting. “But that boy is a player. He has a lot of girlfriends. He can’t have them all.”

She drops her head with a silent laugh, and I’m relieved to see it. “I can totally see him as the Casanova of dogs.”

“Ha! He likes to think so.”

Together, we unload the Jeep and make our way down the dock to the boat. Despite the sun hanging low in the sky, it’s still blazing hot, so as soon as we’re on the boat, I yank my shirt over my head, toss it aside, slide my hat on backward, and fire up the boat. I catch a quiet hum of approval from her direction and can’t help but smirk.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she offers, watching me untie the line and bringing it into the boat.

“Nope. Sit back and relax that foot,” I jest, flicking water on her as I pass.

“There’s no need for war,” she replies with a light laugh, setting her bag on the back bench.

I open the canopy to give her a bit of shade, but she stops me, wanting some sun. When she takes off her dress, I bite my lip, not able to turn away from her bikini-clad body. The rays of the setting sun dance across her skin, casting a golden hue over her curves.

She holds her arms out. “You told me to bring a swimsuit.”

Stop staring, dipshit. Except, I can’t.

“I had to get a new bathing suit since I didn’t have one.”

“Wait…” Her confession breaks my trance. “You didn’t own a swimsuit? You live in Texas.”

She shrugs, laying out a towel across the bench seat in the front left of the boat. “I mean, I had a swimsuit. But when I was getting ready to move, I donated all my clothes to charity. I hadn’t gotten one since I left.”

“You were really starting over, huh?”

She nods. “I was ready for a change,” she says, sitting down and stretching out her legs. I understand that more than most, having done it myself at eighteen—I left and never turned back. “Turned out not to be quite the change I was looking for, but…” Her voice fades away.

I focus on steering the boat from the slip, giving her a moment without me staring at her.

Why? Why did I do this to myself on our first date?

I glance over. “But you’re doing it. I’m in awe of how strong you are.”

She peers over at me with a lopsided grin. “You’re giving me too much credit. He still lives in my head. His voice—even though I never heard him—is always there, threatening me. Which is weird, right? How in the world do I know what he sounds like?”

“A lot of times, our brains project what we think we heard or saw. It’s the same with witnesses. Often, it’s hard to take witness accounts as facts unless we get multiple sources saying they saw the same thing. But we could have five witnesses who all say the person was wearing five different color shirts.”

She stares out at the water. “Yeah. That must be it.”

As we pick up speed, the wind drowns out our words, so she settles across the cushions, taking in the sun while it’s still out. The boat glides over smooth waters, the surface sparkling like a thousand diamonds as we make our way farther out. I’ve spent countless weekends on this lake, so I know the entire layout—where to avoid and where the best places are.

When I make it to my favorite spot by the dam, I kill the engine and let the boat drift. Walking over to the cooler, I grab a couple Coronas and hand her one. Then I pull out the picnic basket from the cooler.

“Wow. You thought of everything,” she says as I unpack a board of cheese and meat and remove the plastic wrap.

I will never remember what the hell women call these things. When Joy, our nosy admin, overheard Liam and me talking about my date, she suggested ordering one of these trays. I thought she was talking Spanish when she called it by its name.

“Aww. I love this charcuterie board. You didn’t make this, did you?”

There’s that dumb name. Who would name something so difficult to remember and say?

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

She stares at me, contemplating. “You’re pretty talented with your hands.” I fight the wicked grin growing on my face by coughing once and pulling out the plates. She has no idea, but I’d love to show her how skilled they can be. “So, maybe.”

My ego grows a little larger that she thinks I can do anything. Could I have made this? Heck yeah, it doesn’t take a sous chef to make one of these. It’s cubed cheese, sliced meats, throw in some nuts and fruit, and you have a fancy board. Mine wouldn’t look this decorated—still not sure why the same kind of nuts are in three different spots—but who cares? It’s here to eat, not to be admired. But I didn’t have time to do it myself.

“I’d like to say it was me to impress you, but sorry, I don’t make shark cuties.”

She burst out laughing. “What was that?”

I chuckle with embarrassment, but it’s so worth it to witness her deep belly laugh. “Whatever the hell you called it. I don’t do those.”

She’s laughing so hard, tears well up in her eyes. She pats them away, sniffs, and says, “They’ll always be shark cuties to me now.” I cock my head to the side and stare at her while she composes herself. Kali is the only woman that can get away with making me the butt end of a joke. “Don’t be mad. It’s…adorable.” I lift a brow as she pops a grape into her mouth.

Sweet. Adorable. Who the fuck am I turning into?

I point a toothpick at her. “If you ever tell a soul, expect your steak to come out charred from now on.”

She gasps, edging closer to me. “Now, sir, we do not joke about overcooking meat around these parts.” She’s so close, I can smell her suntan lotion.

She leans over and cuts a piece of cheese and brings it to my mouth. Calling me sir and having her feed me has caught the attention of my dick. Poor guy, it’s been six months since he’s seen any action…other than my hand. I fight to think with the rational head.

I pick up a grape and act like I’m going to feed it to her and then pop it in my mouth. She laughs, picking up her own grape. “You’re stunning, especially when you laugh,” I say. Her cheeks flush as she turns away and sits on the bench that wraps around the table. She scoots to the middle part of the U shape. I follow her lead and sit to the left of her, wondering what turned on the shyness. Surely I’m not the first to tell her she’s beautiful.

She fills a plate and glances at me. “Tell me more about your family. You’ve mentioned Grams, and I know your dad passed away.”

Nice deflection.

I scratch my head and stare out at the water, my turn to feel uneasy. There are a few boats off in the distance, and I focus on them. This is not a favorite topic of mine. In fact, it’s a topic I never talk about with anyone. “My mom isn’t part of my life. I’ll leave it at that.” My gaze jumps back to her and there are questions on the tip of her tongue, so I keep going, not giving her a chance to ask them. “However, my grams and pops are the two most important people in my life.”

Her expression softens. “I love when you mention your grams.”

Note taken—talk more about my grams.

“I met none of my grandparents. My mom and her parents had a falling out when she married my dad, and they disowned her. I never found out why, but they weren’t happy about it. They could still be alive, but they’ve never contacted me. My dad’s parents passed away in a house fire when he was in his early twenties.”

“Wow.”

She shivers. “Right? That’s a horrible way to die.”

About as bad as being buried alive.

“Any brothers or sisters?” she continues.

These questions are getting worse. When can we move on to wondering what each other’s favorite movie is or which side of the bed we sleep on? I swallow back the discomfort, reminding myself this is a normal conversation between two people on a first date. Maybe I should’ve picked a less intimate setting if this shit is going to get to me.

I push off the seat and stick my hand in the ice to grab another beer, hoping the cold will numb not just my hand but this conversation. “Want another one?”

“Sure,” she murmurs. Fuck. I’m messing everything up because I can’t handle a simple conversation with a woman.

I twist the top off and hand it to her. “Sorry.” I wring my neck with my icy hand. “I had a brother. Jack. He was older than me, but he died when I was eleven. A couple of years before my dad passed away. He was my best friend.” I sigh, falling back on the bench beside her, stretching my legs out. Jack’s smirking face pops into my mind. Man, I miss that guy. “It’s another thing that’s hard for me to talk about.”

“It’s okay. I get it…” Her voice trails off as she picks at the beer label. “More than you know.”

I need to steer this conversation in a different direction. “Damn. Enough of the sad talk. Tell me what your favorite movie is.”

Her lips curl up. “That’s easy. Dirty Dancing .”

“Is that right?”

I pull out my phone and open a music app, pressing Play when I find the song. This is the perfect segue. I hold my hand out as “Hungry Eyes” by Eric Carmen floats around us.

“Dance with me?”

She shakes her head in amusement as she puts her hand in mine, and I pull her up into my chest, swaying to the beat of the song. Lights strung overhead sparkle as the sky fades to a deeper blue, and the gentle sway of the boat under our feet matches us in a rhythmic dance.

“You’re smooth, Officer Turner.”

I wink at her. “As butter.”

“And so not lacking in confidence,” she teases. I wrap my arm around her waist, tighter, as we spin in a circle. There is nothing wrong with a healthy ego.

As the song fades, our bodies have molded together, and the air grows heavy. We stop moving, and I stare down into her blue eyes. Her breath hitches. I lick my lips, staring at hers, and then lean down. Her hands tighten around me in anticipation. I stop, barely touching her lips, and draw in a breath.

“Do you want this?” I whisper, the warmth of my breath grazing her lips. I need to ensure there’s no room for regrets. She needs to think she’s in total control.

Even though she’s not.

“Yes,” she answers breathlessly.

I cup her neck and press my mouth against the corner of her soft, plump lips, kissing my way over. She hums right before she parts her lips and lets me deepen the kiss. I keep it soft and tender, afraid I’ll devour her if I let go. I want to savor her taste, revel in the feel of her body’s warmth against me and take my time with her. There is no rush.

Suddenly, Kali breaks the kiss and jumps back as if something bit her. I can promise you it wasn’t me, despite wanting to.

“What was that?” she blurts out.

I furrow my brows, confused. “What was what?”

“Something flew by me and squeaked. It was inches away from our heads. I felt it. You didn’t?”

I shake my head, scanning the empty boat. Her lips and her soft sighs were consuming my attention. “It was probably a bird.”

“Oh my god!” she shrieks, pointing to the edge of the boat. “That is not a bird.”

I walk over and staring up at me are two little beady eyes, a little snout, and tiny ears twitching. “Hey, buddy. You take a wrong turn?” I say to the unexpected visitor.

Kali stands right next to me, straining her neck forward. “Is that a bat? He’s kind of cute.” It wasn’t so cute when he interrupted us.

“It is. Every night, thousands take flight from under the Congress Avenue Bridge searching for food. It’s like a monumental event every night for people around here.”

“Thousands?” Her eyes widen in amazement as she stares at the creature. “I think I found our next date.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. She’s already thinking about date two. Well, damn, now I’m thankful for the interruption.

Not a couple minutes later, our new friend is back in flight, and the next song is already playing. “I hope you like the eighties.” I chuckle hearing “I Want to Know What Love Is” by Foreigner.

“I love it,” she says, walking back into my arms.

As we dance, she tells me about the classes she signed up for. I’ve never heard someone talk about college with that much excitement. While it was some of the best times of my life, it wasn’t because of the classes. Partying and women. That is what I aced in college.

“So, what do you want to do when you grow up?”

“A flight attendant. I’ve dreamed of traveling the world.” Her confidence about what she wants and her determination to make it happen are sexy. After what she’s been through, most women would be afraid to live. Not Kali.

But after everything we’ve talked about, there’s one thing she’s yet to tell me—her rags-to-riches story. She’s changed from before.

Before being buried.

How does a woman go from being a small-town waitress with tattered shoes to buying a brand-new car, an entire new wardrobe, and enrolling in college?

It seems we both have secrets.