The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,47

of land each.

“Do you think you’ll want to come back here and settle?” I ask her, and my throat closes around the question because I’m desperate for the answer to be a very firm no.

“It’s home. But, it’s also got so many bad memories. Between my father and the river, living here was like having a devil at my front and hell at my back. As much as I love our way of life, I’ve never felt like this is where my life was supposed to take root,” she says. “The first flood I was old enough to remember was when I was twelve. I saw how we were left holding nothing, and it made me want to do what I could to make sure that next time we’d do better than just barely survive. I think I can do that more effectively outside of here,” she says without hesitation.

The knot in my throat unclenches, and I smile down at her as we roll into the parking spot under her mother’s covered carport.

“I understand that,” I say simply. Because I do. It’s how I used to feel about returning to Houston permanently. But now, I can see how much potential the city has.

I push the gear shift into park, unbuckle my seat belt, and give her a kiss. She cups my neck with both of her small, strong hands and kisses me back. Her mouth tastes like sunshine and water and trees and smoke. I pull her onto my lap until she’s straddling me. “You’re so sexy when you’re up on that soapbox,” I murmur against her lips.

“Yeah, well my convictions give me the feels …” she jokes.

I don’t laugh. “I know, and that gives me feelings, too,” I say, refusing to use that ridiculous slang.

She hums and rolls her hips in my lap. “Hayes …” she drawls lazily.

The storm door at the back of the house slams against the wooden frame and startles us both.

“You two better get out of there like that before Sheriff Tommy sees you.” Her mother’s distinctive raspy drawl reaches us through the open window.

Confidence jumps so high she hits her head on the sagging ceiling of the car. “Ow,” she complains and rubs it while she climbs off me.

“Go on.” The door wrenches open, and I look up at her mother’s ever present, good-natured smile.

“Hey there, Ms. Dorothea, you look nice tonight.” I smile back.

“Don’t try to charm me, you handsome devil,” she chides.

“I’m not,” I insist and take her hand in mine while I climb out.

“Well, why the hell not?” she asks and then cracks herself up laughing. I walk over to the other side of the car and pull the heavy door open for my girl.

“Hey, Mama,” Confidence calls as she slides out. She mouths a silent thank you before she leans over the top of the car to face her mother.

“Hey yourself, baby. I’ve got Bingo, and I’m gonna be late, so I’ll see you later.” She smiles at her daughter without moving to get into the car.

They are mirror images of each other. Except for the deep lines that bracket and shape Dorothea’s tanned face, they could be twins. Thick blonde hair, vibrant blue eyes, small but generous mouths. They’re even the same height. But where Confidence is shaped like a classic coke bottle—all curves, tits and ass—her mother is as spare as a reed.

“Hayes is leaving tomorrow,” she reminds her.

“I know he is. I’ll see y’all for breakfast.” She winks at both of us before she gets in her car.

“I’ll be back at the crack of dawn, so y’all should get to bed early so that when I wake you up, you don’t feel like you’ve been hit by a two-by-four,” she calls out of the open window before she turns the key and the powerful engine roars to life.

“Last one in the hot tub brings the beers,” Confidence calls out to me as she runs toward the house. In a blur of tanned limbs and blonde hair with a huge smile on her face, she disappears inside.

“It’s about time,” Confidence shouts when I step out onto the deck.

“Says the girl who wore her bathing suit all day. Some of us had to change.” I scowl at her, hand her a beer, and step into the huge hot tub on her mother’s deck.

She takes a swig of the beer, and some of the cold foam dribbles down her chin and lands on her bare chest. “Ooooh, that’s cold,” she