Play It Safe
I controlled my hilarity and remarked, “I hope you’re not Mustang’s welcome wagon, honey, and that was all just for me.”
His grin slightly faded, his head dropped and his lips touched mine before he pulled back and said quietly, “It’s all for you, Ivey.”
All for me. All of him was all for me.
I sighed.
Then I smiled.
Gray’s eyes took in my smile then they moved to mine and he ordered gently, “Say you love me, Ivey.”
My body eased under his and I whispered, “I love you, Gray.”
“Welcome home, dollface.”
My hand moved to cup his jaw as my lips whispered, “Thank you, baby.”
His eyes got lazy before he gave me the dimple again.
* * * * *
Six hours later…
Makeup refreshed, a spritz of perfume, having run my fingers through my hair, re-donning my fitted, fabulous black halter top sundress and strappy, spiked-heeled black sandals, my hand in Gray’s, we were walking across the porch.
And I was trying not to hyperventilate.
Because it was Friday.
And being Friday, we were heading to his truck to go to town for VFW steaks.
I was not ready for this.
Not at all.
“Maybe I should change,” I suggested as Gray walked us down the porch steps.
“You look beautiful, darlin’,” Gray replied on a hand squeeze, leading me around the porch and toward his truck.
The rusted out wreck grew closer and closer as my anxiety grew more and more.
“I have a lot of unpacking to do. Maybe I should get started on that,” I tried.
“Ivey, you don’t have a job. You have plenty of time to unpack,” Gray pointed out, walking me to the passenger side of his truck.
Okay, shit.
Okay, shit.
I didn’t want to face down Mustang, not now. They knew I was a burlesque dancer. They knew I was shacked up with a hotshot who they would never know was g*y. These people went to church. They lived in a small town. They were not hardened, seen it all, done it all residents of Vegas.
They would think things about me.
They already thought things about me.
I knew it.
I could handle this if I had time to prepare. But a day full of ha**ng s*x with Gray broken up to eat turkey and swiss sandwiches and have whispered conversations as we lay na**d in his bed, fingers trailing, bodies seeking and gaining contact, legs tangling, lips brushing did not prepare me for dinner at the VFW where most everyone in the town of Mustang would be.
Shit.
Gray stopped me at the passenger side door of his truck, he pulled it open and it creaked loudly. My thoughts of everyone in Mustang judging me fled and my eyes shot down to the door.
Then a smile slowly rose on my lips.
“Get in, honey,” Gray muttered and I looked up at him.
“Same truck?” I asked softly and he focused on me.
Then he grinned.
God, that grin. All the shit that went down, it still came easy.
“It runs, so yeah,” he answered.
“How much do you have to work on it to make it run?” I asked.
“Dollface, it’s American made so not much.”
He was totally lying. This thing was still running on a wing and a prayer.
Whatever.
“It’s twenty years old, Gray,” I told him.
“It’s fifteen years old, Ivey.”
I felt my brows draw together and I asked, “Is it?”
His lips twitched and he answered, “Yeah.”
“Looks older,” I muttered.
“Get in, Ivey.”
“Way older.”
“Get in, Ivey.”
“Way, way older.”
Gray burst out laughing, hooked an arm around my waist, pulled me into his body and kissed me, hard and closed mouthed.
Then he lifted his head and ordered, “Get…in, Ivey.”
“All right, all right,” I muttered, turned and climbed in.
The door creaked loudly when Gray slammed it.
I smiled again.
Then I looked around the interior.
Candy bar wrappers. Gum wrappers. Chip bags. Receipts. Empty pop cans. The ashtray open and filled to overflowing with change that had fallen down and therefore was also on the floor.
Gray’s door creaked loudly, he angled in then it creaked loudly again as he slammed it.
He’d fired the old girl up, reversed and we were on our way down the lane when I queried, “Have you tidied the old girl up since I left?”
“The old girl?”
“Your truck.”
“Right,” he muttered, I looked at his profile to see he was grinning. Then he answered, “Probably.”
“By the looks of it, I’m not sure you’re telling me the truth.”
Gray glanced at me then back out the windshield before he replied, “Ivey, I’m a guy. This is a truck. It’s not a new truck. It’s not even a five year old truck. It’s a fifteen year old truck. I don’t tidy anything and definitely not a fifteen year old truck.”
“Now you’ll often have a classy albeit ex-showgirl in your truck Gray,” I reminded him.
“Good, so you can tidy it,” Gray replied and I giggled.
Then I looked out the windshield as Gray turned us on the road to Mustang. “So, if you don’t tidy anything, are you saying that even with Mrs. Cody gone, Macy still comes to clean your house?”
“Yep, every two weeks.”
“That’s weird, Gray,” I noted softly.
“Why?”
“Well, you’re a grown man and you have use of all four limbs, ten fingers, ten toes. Not to mention, your uncles are ass**les and she’s married to one of them.”
“Yeah, they are. But they don’t come and clean my house. Macy’s not an ass**le. Macy also knows I planted a shitload of trees two years ago, adopted more horses and had a f**kload of problems. So I’ve been busy and one of the things I don’t have to get busy doin’ is cleanin’ my house. It’s cool she does it and I’m grateful. Though,” I turned my head to see he’d done the same to glance at me grinning before his eyes went back to the road, “she doesn’t leave flowers anymore.”
“Well, at least there’s that,” I muttered and Gray chuckled.
“By the way,” I began to note after he quit chuckling, “you leave your ashtray open like that with change in it, you’re practically begging for someone to break into this wreck.”
“They wanna make that kinda effort for four some odd dollars of change, they can have it.”