We finished our breakfast and walked back to the service station. Her tire was filled and plugged, her truck ready to go. I slid in the driver’s seat while Jessie went inside to pay. When I heard the passenger door open and she slunk down, she said, “You can drive us to the bridge, but only because you know the way.”

I nodded, expecting what was coming next.

“But I’m driving home. My truck, my field trip.”

“Deal,” I grinned and backed out of the space. “But I’ll admit that I like driving Old Betty.”

“Betty?” Her eyebrows bunched together. “What the hell is that?”

“My name for her. Betty, like Betty Boop. She’s vintage, been through a lot, but she still looks and drives pretty darn good.”

I wouldn’t go so far as to tell her that she also reminded me of Betty Boop—like some damn sexy pinup girl—because she was liable to smack the shit out of me for a comment like that.

“How do you know my truck is a girl?” she said, looking out the side window. “Maybe it’s a guy and I’ve already got a nickname for him.”

“Guess you have a point,” I said pulling down the old dirt road leading to the abandoned railroad. “What’s his name then?”

“Uh. . . .” I could tell she was searching. “Bo.”

I snorted. “Bo?”

“Haven’t you ever watched Dukes of Hazzard?” she said, pretending to be indignant. “My dad loved that show. Bo drove General Lee and he was red, just like my truck.”

“Actually the color of General Lee was orange, even if the name of the paint was flaming red,” I said and her eyebrow arched in surprise. “But fine. You can call him Bo when you drive him and when I drive her, I’ll call her Daisy—for Daisy Duke—Bo’s cousin in that crazy-ass show.”

She laughed and then inhaled a sharp breath when she understood my meaning. I didn’t even know why I’d say such a thing—as if making the presumption that I’d be driving her truck all the time. It just felt natural and slid from my lips without thinking it all the way through.

“Pretty sure your flashy new car would blow my ride out of the water,” she mumbled.

“I’m not sure my ride would be able to handle the back roads like this one does,” I said, to cover my slipup. “Who knows when you’ll need to photograph more bridges.”

Chapter Seventeen

Jessie

I thought it would be more awkward around Nate this morning, but I was surprised how easygoing it’d been. I tried my hardest to act normal upon waking because of how emotional our time together had been last night.

Because deep down, I was a mess. I couldn’t shake the memory of what we’d done—what he’d done—and how he’d made me feel. And I wouldn’t shake it for a very long time.

As he pulled up to the grassy abandoned lot, I couldn’t stop the onslaught of warmth that continued flooding my chest ever since he named my truck and acted like we’d be hanging out in the future. At the very least, we’d still be friends. It didn’t have to be awkward when we saw each other again.

I gaped at the huge, ominous structure, a portion slanted up at a ninety-degree angle. Then I grabbed for my camera case on the seat. I’d seen bridges like this in vintage photos but never up close and personal. It was an enormous and rugged monstrosity sitting before me and with the blue sky as a backdrop, would be amazing to photograph.

Nate had come around the truck to open my door, startling me. “Ready?”

As he grasped for my hand to help me out the truck, my skin flushed from the contact. I couldn’t stop thinking of what a contradiction he was. Kind and considerate, by helping a girl out of the car. But behind closed doors, he was dangerous and demanding in all the best ways—if only he wouldn’t hold himself back in such a tightly sealed enclosure, desperate for release. He was terrified of himself.

But now, more than ever, I had a burning desire to know why he was so afraid. What had happened to push him there, to lock him away?

My thighs thrummed with longing from our unfinished business. I couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to have Nate inside me. More than likely, it would rock my world. If last night was any indication of what being with him could feel like, so raw and wild, then maybe it was best that we walk away. Because otherwise, I might want to experience it again and again and again.

Nate didn’t repeat his hookups or even do friends with benefits. Not as far as I’d heard. And I didn’t do casual, either.

But could I do it with him?

I stood by the front bumper and adjusted the lens. He climbed on the hood of my truck to sit and watch me work.

“Tell me about this bridge,” I said.

“Let’s see if I can remember. It was built in the eighteen forties and was one of the first wrought iron truss bridges. It’s angled that way on the end because there used to be a shallow river down below,” he said, pointing beneath the bridge where tall weeds obscured the landscape. “And it would lower to allow the trains, which were once known as iron horses, to cross. Then would rise again if a boat needed safe passage.”

“So what happened?” I asked, focusing in on a closer shot. I loved hearing his history lessons. They made him sound so sexy and brainy. “Why isn’t it used anymore?”

“The industrial revolution happened. Expansive tracks were built to transport supplies across the country. Cargo planes, too,” he said on a breath. “This bridge wasn’t maintained properly and began rusting. The riverbed below dried up after a long draught. And now here it sits all alone.”