Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,21
had dressed. His still-bare feet were large and gawky. They stood out because they were big enough to hold up a man with way more meat on his bones than Tug had. He sat down across from me again. I had no doubt he’d taken the other two tablets and was waiting for them to hit.
His gaze softened. “Not many people have the kind of empathy you do.”
Translation: You’re a trick.
“You know what?” He crossed his legs and leaned back on his hands. “I used to have the biggest fucking crush on you.”
“Really?” I offered him the bottle, which obviously surprised him.
“You think it’s okay for me to drink?” he asked.
“No, probably not. I’m sorry, Tug. I sort of cracked and didn’t think about what you were going through.”
This was so wrong. I was a little drunk, and my pulse beat loudly in my ears. It felt like arousal, but it might have been rage. Somehow, I’d conflated the two. Before I knew it, I’d moved to sit next to him.
“You really had a crush on me? Tell me.”
He flushed. “You always had everything together.”
“Did I?” I leaned closer to him, just to see what he’d do.
“You were like, this super hipster college dude.” He tilted his head flirtatiously. “I always did like the nerds.”
“You saw me as a nerd?”
“Of course. But in a good way.” He held my gaze. “I used to count the days until you brought your slouch-beanie-wearing ass home. You stank of weed. Want to know a secret?”
“What’s that?” As fury warred with attraction inside me, I realized it might not be the best idea to tempt fate.
“I wasn’t nearly as bad at math as I made out.”
“Oh, wow.” That little faker. “You minx.”
He grinned. “Sorry, not sorry.”
“I guess that’s a compliment, huh?” I whispered the words in his ear. He didn’t pull away.
“You bet. Do all the kiddies at the library have the hots for you? You’ve got this sexy librarian vibe going, like you take off your glasses and become a stripper.”
“Oh, sure. That’s me all right.” At that, I took off my glasses and laid them on the nightstand. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Why, Miss Jones, you’re beautiful.’”
He laughed just a little too loudly. Maybe it occurred to him he’d lost control of the situation. I moved toward him until my lips were a breath away from his. His tongue darted out and gave his full lower lip a swipe.
If I hadn’t been so goddamned angry, I might have responded to the invitation and kissed him. As it was, I had something else in mind.
“You know what I would really love right now? It’s a total guilty pleasure, but what the fuck, right?”
“Right…” He barely spoke the word. “What?”
“I would kill for a cigarette.” I met his gaze. “It’s been forever since I smoked one. Can I bum one of yours?”
That got me a very satisfying widening of his eyes and some stammered excuse about getting the wrong cigarette pack, taking his new friend’s empty pack instead of the full one, or maybe she scammed him, isn’t that hilarious. Hahahaha.
I tuned him out. “Set an alarm and be ready to leave at seven.”
So I can be done with this shitshow.
He swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“You have a tough few days ahead. I want to get an early start.”
He ran a nervous hand over his hair. “I’ve got it. Seven. I’ll be ready.”
“That’s if we’re still going. Are we?” Red colored his high cheekbones and a muscle ticked in his jaw. I’d have felt a little sorry for him if he hadn’t treated me like a mark.
He avoided my eyes. “We are.”
Chapter Nine
I didn’t talk to Tug much on the drive to Stockton. It wasn’t that I gave him the cold shoulder. We were just safer listening to music and keeping our thoughts to ourselves, and we both knew it.
Stockton—south of Lodi in the Central Valley, nestled alongside the San Joaquin River—was fruit and nut territory. All California jokes aside, the highest grossing crops in San Joaquin County were grapes, almonds, walnuts, and cherries, most of which are water intensive.
The city of Stockton was hit hard by the 2008 financial crisis and became the largest municipal bankruptcy in the country in 2011. The area also suffered from a decade-long drought.
When we drove through, Stockton looked like a typical California town with suburban housing curled around strip malls and Walmart Supercenters. On the outskirts, where we were headed, lay agricultural land of all types.