Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“Thanks.” My throat went thick. It had been a very long time since someone had cared enough to make me an early morning cup of coffee. I forced a teasing tone to cover my rising emotions. “I bet you’re part of the long line of sergeants who take theirs black.”
“Wrong. Needs sugar.” Carson grinned, clearly enjoying correcting my assumption. Outside, the rugged terrain on either side of us, with no houses or towns in sight, made it seem like we were the last truck on the planet. Soon enough, we’d hit I-70 and plenty of interstate traffic, but the wide-open road was nice while it lasted.
“I agree.” Carefully juggling steering and drinking, I took a quick sip from the cup closest to me. Sweet and milky, exactly how I usually took it. “You nailed my usual order as well.”
“Hardly a bara…” Carson’s eyes narrowed as he searched for the word, voice going more hesitant. “Coffee… Coffee clerk. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” I shot him a reassuring grin. “Doubt I pronounce barista right myself.”
“Hate when words don’t come.” He slumped in his seat. He seemed to have good days and bad days when it came to speech, but lately, the good days had seemed more plentiful.
“I’m sure it’s hard.” I adopted a commiserating tone, hoping I didn’t sound flippant. “If I were Simone, I’d heap on the platitudes like, ‘You’re doing great’ or ‘It will get easier,’ but I know you well enough by now to know you’d growl at me.”
“Grrrr.” Carson flashed his teeth at me when I glanced his direction to check the trailer cam. “Or bite.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I shot back before thinking better of the joke. “Sorry. Inappropriate humor.”
“Heard worse.” Carson shrugged as his expression turned more thoughtful. “Are you…?” He trailed off before he could finish the question. “Never mind. Not my business.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind sharing.” I could guess what he’d been about to ask. My joke might have been poorly timed, but I wasn’t put off by the question. If anything, it was an opportunity for a conversation we probably needed to have. “I’m pan. I wasn’t out while I served, but vet school provided some opportunities to explore. Not much time for dating, but I had a couple of good friends with benefits.”
“Friends are good.” Carson’s tone was maddeningly vague. “But friends can get messy.”
“Word.” I’d had a few friendships go south after benefits were added myself. “Speaking from experience?”
“A little.” Carson didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, but my body hummed with the need to know more.
“I won’t push, but I’ll admit to some curiosity,” I said after giving him a lengthy pause to say more. “You didn’t date while you served?”
“Not much time.” Carson kept right on being vague. He took a sip of his coffee before adding, “A few friends here and there.”
“I see.” I shot him a questioning look, hoping to encourage him to get specific. His cautious use of gender-neutral terms had me hopeful, but I didn’t want to assume. My brain buzzed, however, as my mind raced back to that night under the stars, the moment we’d almost had. Maybe he would have been more amenable to a move than I’d thought.
The silence dragged out, going from conversational pause to awkward, so I reached for the touch screen to flip on the radio. However, before I could settle on a station, Carson cleared his throat.
“Mainly guy friends.” Carson’s voice was a gravelly whisper. “Not out.”
“I get it. I won’t tell,” I assured him quickly. “Thanks for trusting me.”
“No problem.” Carson directed all his attention toward the stereo, predictably settling on a contemporary country station before he pulled out his phone. As we approached I-70, he started humming along to a ballad about a friend lost too soon.
“You have a nice voice.” I kept the compliment light and easy.
“Not bad.” Carson’s mouth twisted as he looked up from his phone. “Singing is easier than talking. Go figure.”
“Hey, I’ve got an undergrad degree in biology and still don’t understand the mysteries of the brain.” I found Carson’s recovery fascinating from a neurological perspective, but I hardly wanted him to feel like a lab rat. Instead, I shifted the topic. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Yep. Diner outside of Grand Junction.” He tapped his phone. “Decent reviews.”
“Thanks. It’s good to have a copilot.” The back of my neck heated as if touched by an invisible hand. I was so used to worrying about myself. Having someone else handle the little details was a welcome novelty.
“Glad to be useful.” Carson gave a self-conscious chuckle. “Passenger princess.”
“Hardly.” I grinned at him.
I couldn’t make not driving easier on him, but I could appreciate what he brought to the table. We made a good team, which meant there was that much more to lose if I pushed the invisible boundaries of our friendship.