#WhatIWroteWednesday: Kristina's New WIP
Jaime hit the speaker button on her phone and put it on the counter so she could finish getting ready while Maureen told her what an idiot she'd been to kiss Emmett. Not that she needed Maureen's input, she'd spent half the night reliving the kiss and the other half reminding herself why it was important to never do that again.
"How was it?"
"What do you mean how was it?"
"I mean I saw him out walking last night and his hair is the same unruly black and his skin is just beginning to tan and I'm pretty sure he could rock a pole with the guys from Magic Mike. So how was it?"
This was not the way this conversation was supposed to go. Steady, married Maureen was supposed to be on the No Kissing Strange Men side of the argument not the He's Kissable Enough for Hollywood side of it. Especially when he was.
Not that Jaime had kissed anyone from Hollywood, but she'd had her share of first and second and last kisses. Usually they didn't leave her so winded.
"It was a kiss." She would not kiss and tell. It was too juvenile.
"Soft lips? Did he so that tasting thing or was it full-on onslaught?"
"Are we adults here or have we reverted back to senior year?"
"I'm a married woman of course we've reverted. Living vicariously through my friends is how I make it through PTA meetings and dinners with the in-laws."
"You and Cindy have the best in-law relationship I've ever scene."
"And I love Clancy to the moon and back, but I'm still alive and Emmett is so the hot guy on the construction calendar." She was quiet for a moment. "And if you're not talking that means it was of the better-than-good kiss category."
And now for a peek into my second Texas book, What A Texas Girl Needs:
“I’ll take the bill, Vern,” she said, holding out her hand. It was about time she started paying her own way. One tank of gas wouldn’t exactly repay the family, but it was a start. Added bonus, paying her own bills might help overhaul the character she’d found so seriously lacking in the last few months.
“It’s easier for ol’ Mitch to keep his records if I just add it to the ranch total.”
“I’m not a ranch employee. This isn’t a ranch vehicle. I’ll take the bill.” Vanessa couldn’t remember ever paying for a tank of gas here. Come to think of it, unless she was trying to impress someone, she had rarely paid for anything to this point in her life.
Vern handed her the receipt. Fifty bucks? Holy crap, how much did gas cost? Stupid question, Van, obviously it costs fifty dollars. She reached into her bag for her credit card and then remembered that was part and parcel of the Witte upbringing. Paying with Grandfather’s credit card? Not character building. She pawed through the baby blue Coach bag but only came up with two twenties and some loose change.
Damn.
“Just charge it to the ranch, Vern.” Mat Barnes’s voice echoed under the station’s overhang, chilling Vanessa. “The Double Diamond will cover it.” We always cover her bills, his tone implied.
Vanessa squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed. Her fingers closed over another bill. Please let it be a twenty. Or a ten. She opened her eyes.
Three twenties. Triumph!
“I’ve got it Mr. Barnes, thank you,” she said, chilling her voice as she handed the cash to Vern. He looked from Mat to Vanessa, obviously confused over what was going on between them. Vanessa held his gaze for a moment. Vern took the cash and hurried inside.
“I think we’re past the ‘Mr. Barnes’ stage, don’t you?” Mat watched her from beneath the tipped-low brim on his cowboy hat, his coal-black eyes boring straight to her soul. Yes, they were past the Mr. or Miss stage, technically, but not calling him Mat helped her keep her distance.
The way her heart raced at the mere sight of him she desperately needed that space.
She looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze caught on the frayed edge of his jeans—which were worn in all the right places, she noted—and today’s tee, tight across his shoulders, read, ‘Chicks Dig Scars’ over his well-muscled chest.
Who was she kidding? Calling him Mr. Barnes didn’t keep her from noticing just how delectable Mat was. Nothing could do that. Not in broad daylight. Certainly not the twinkling fairy lights during Kathleen’s wedding reception.
“I don’t think a night spent in my grandfather’s hayloft makes us best buddies,” she said, hoping against hope he would just leave her alone.
“Ahh, but what we did in that hayloft is another matter.” He lounged against the side of her Porsche as if he might stay there forever.
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