36. Dusty

I’m on cloud nine.

Nothing can touch me.

My biggest fear, the thoughts that have haunted me since Gus passed, just disappeared.

I’m going to be Sienna’s guardian. That takes the need to find a job, a new home, from nuclear threat, to general disaster. I can work with disaster level. That’s when I do some of my best improvising.

It’s nothing compared to what I was worried about.

The worst thing, the thing I wouldn’t be able to recover from, would be having my last family member removed from my life. I can keep her. And she can keep me.

I feel a thousand pounds lighter. My old man used to say we Larsons had the luck of the devil. It’s better than having bad luck, and I’ll take it.

Feeling the familiar rush, like I’m on a roll, I go off in search of Marnie.

I find her loading up some cake boxes into the back of her car.

She doesn’t turn to look at me. “Shouldn’t you be dancing with you girlfriend?”

She’s trying to act unaffected, but she’s shown me her hand. Telling me she’s been keeping tabs on me and where I am.

The thought of Marnie watching me, tracking my progress, gives me a flush of pleasure.

I come closer, leaning on the side of her car. “Who?”

She pauses, turning to face me. “Shea Pierson.”

I study her face. Her hair is piled in a messy bun. A long tendril has snuck loose to skirt past her elegant jaw. I tilt my head. “Where’d you come up with that name? You been doing your research?”

“Andy.”

“Ah. Yes. Andy Reed. She’s a wealth of knowledge, isn’t she?”

Marnie’s lips twist slightly. “Nice girl. Big mouth.”

“What’s she been saying? Should I be worried?”

Marnie’s eyebrows flick upwards. “I don’t know, Dusty. Should you?”

It feels like a dangerous game, but she’s still talking to me, and she hasn’t tried to put space between us yet. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re still a little jealous.”

Her expressive brows lower. “Accuse me of that again and see how it goes for you.”

I chuckle, zeroing in on the way her chest is rising and falling.

Her heart is racing.

Kind of like mine.

“You have a little frosting on your neck.”

“I do?”

She doesn’t.

Her hand flies up, gliding across her neck.

“Yeah, right here.”

I lean in, dipping my head to brush my lips along her skin. My tongue peeks out and I nibble at the crook of her neck. She sucks in a breath, bending towards me when I put my hand on her lower back.

She smells amazing.

Sweet. Like wedding frosting. I groan, resting my forehead on her shoulder. “I want to take you home right now and lick every square inch of you.”

Her fingers chart a featherlight trail down my chest. “What about the reception?”

“Fuck that wedding. We made an appearance. We did our duty. Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”

I slip my fingers into her jeans pocket and pull out her keys. “I’ll drive.”

“You’re going to leave your truck here?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I left my truck at a party.”

I hook the waist of her jeans with my finger and tug her back so that I can open the passenger door. “Get in, baby girl, I’m taking you home.”

This is a woman who radiates power. Confidence.

The fact that she trusts me, that she climbs into the car without another word, sends a little thrill through me.

I slide behind the wheel and we both laugh at how far up she has the driver’s seat. Sliding it back so that my knees are no longer up around my ears, I start up the car and hit the road.

There are only ten miles between the reception and Gus’s place, but each and every one of those miles is sweet torture.

I call this time of day the golden hour. It’s that short window of time before the sun really starts to set and the whole world is cast in perfect, warm light. And out here, where you can literally see for miles and miles, it makes things seem possible.

It makes it seem like I’m in the exact place where I’m supposed to be.

Marnie sitting shotgun completes the picture.

I knew she was getting under my skin.

I knew she was different.

But this is when I realize she’s the missing piece.

She’s got her hand on my leg and she’s teasing, teasing.

She never outright touches me. Even though my shaft is lengthening, growing heavy, she manages to tease just at the perimeter.

Casual, innocent touches.

I think I might combust. Or drive us into a ditch. And I don’t ever want her to stop.

I don’t ever want her to go.

The words build in my core, forcing their way up, building and growing, demanding to be set free. “It’s only you.”

She’s got a light smile, tilting those plump lips when she looks over at me. “Hm?”

“Until you’re done with me. It’s just going to be you, Marnie. You don’t have to doubt that.”

I’m afraid to see how she’ll react to that statement, but I force myself to look over at her. Her gaze trails over my face, weighing me. After a while, she just nods. “Okay.”

Okay? Can it really be that easy?

“I’m sure, by now, you’ve heard stories about me.”

Her fingers stop teasing and connect, solid and firm on my lap. “I don’t listen to gossip.”

Something in my chest eases. Sings. “Still. I’ll go to the clinic. Get tested. I haven’t done that for a little while and I’m due, anyway. There shouldn’t be any questions in your mind.”

“I’ll get tested, too.”

With that agreement, it feels like we’ve passed through some sort of gateway. I’ve never had cause to have a conversation like this. It’s no declaration of love or anything, but I’ll take it.

Wrapping my fingers around hers, I raise her hand to my lips and kiss those smooth knuckles.

It feels like I’ve got hope cupped in my hands.

Streaked with dye and smelling like vanilla.