An electric current begins to thrum through my veins from the intensity of his gaze. I exhale harshly as he remains mute, and all hopes of salvaging this trip dissipate while I battle to keep the rest of my sanity.
“Obviously, I’m nowhere near the caliber of reporter of my dad or your mother…yet. But I’m too fucking intelligent to let inexperience or shaky confidence be the reason I tap out. It will have to be something far more substantial than that to tear me away from my own aspirations, and from what I’ve gathered, I think it’s the same for you. Stick to that, and good luck,” I exhale sincerely. “I wish you well, I really do, and again I’m sorry for the way I approached you. I mean that. I’m not…I haven’t been myself lately, and you’re right, it’s not your problem. Take care, Easton.” I step back and palm the door closed for him. He keeps my gaze through the window as he turns the truck over. Defeated but refusing to let him see it, I decide to give him space to make his exit.
His window lowers an inch just as I step back on the curb. “Get in.”
Turning, he slides on the bench seat and pulls up the lock, which sits in the window frame of the ‘80s model truck. As I round the hood, a roar of cheers sounds from the tables. Rolling my eyes, I playfully give them the one-finger salute before sliding onto the bench seat and shutting myself in the truck.
“You have to slam it.”
I do, and before I can get a word in, Easton pulls the gearshift next to the large steering wheel down and gasses us out of the parking lot.
Honest
Kyndal Inskeep, The Song House
Natalie
In a matter of minutes, we’re parked just outside a closed storefront. Easton eases his key out of the ignition and reaches into the small space behind the bench seat producing an army-style faded green jacket. He hands it to me before wordlessly exiting the truck. While packing, I hadn’t at all prepared for Seattle’s spring temperatures versus Texas’s. I blame my lack of sleep caused by the spell I’ve been under since I opened the email chain between our parents. Before I left Austin, I transferred the file to my laptop, and by the time I landed in Seattle, I had read through nearly two and a half years of their relationship—which only drew me further into confusion as to why they split up.
The love between them was so there, so evident, that I found myself tearing up multiple times due to loss alone.
I’ve been so completely immersed in their world that I barely remember checking into my hotel. Without so much as glancing around my room, I dumped my suitcase and stared up at the ceiling before managing to get a few restless hours of sleep. Feeling as insane as the acts I’m committing, I decided after waking I had no choice but to see my emotionally induced, half-baked scheme through. Just as out of sorts now—jet lag kicking in fully—I slide on the offered jacket with a soft “thank you,” meeting Easton at the tailgate of his truck. As we start a silent walk, the material of his jacket blankets me in warmth as an earthy, birchwood scent drifts from the collar. The smell is both divine and comforting.
Allowing Easton to take the lead, I follow him down a small shop-littered street that looks catered to tourists. It’s picturesque, almost romantic in feel as the sun peeks through the flowering blooms, christening the large branches of the towering trees that line both sides of the street.
Easton slows his pace slightly as if taking in the scenery for himself before veering towards a sidewalk leading us past the Mural Amphitheater at Seattle Center, which sits to our left. An extensive view of the Space Needle hovers above the cinema screen-sized mural. Stopping, I take a quick picture with my cell as Easton continues to walk with purpose just ahead of me. It’s then I’m able to fully admire the outline of his build. I guesstimate his height somewhere around six-foot-two, six-foot-three. The cut of his tight jeans outlines both his thick muscular thighs and ample ass. His simple, form-fitting thermal clings to a trim waist, stretching over his muscular back before straining against the width of broad shoulders and bulging biceps.
The man clearly takes care of himself and seems to be in peak condition. If I’m going by looks alone, his genetic makeup will make him an idyllic and mouthwatering front man.
I was momentarily dizzied by the sight of him when he removed his hat at the tavern, and his dark, thick locks fell to rest just below his ears, enhancing his dark lashes and jawline. His presence is more surreal in motion, his chiseled profile and alluring gaze digging into me as he glances my way before I catch up.
After waking and rushing to get ready, I’d only slapped the bare essentials on my face. While he wears the rumpled ‘fresh out of fucks given’ look like he was born to do it, I look like I could use a lesson in self-care, a far, far cry from my put-together, everyday look back home. I can’t exactly hate that I overslept today because I have no doubt if I had arrived at the bar in any sort of business dress, I would have gotten less than the five minutes he originally gave me.