Say You'll Never Love Me by Ann Everett

hometown.”
    Heat crawled up her neck, flamed her cheeks. He kept doing nice stuff.  Come on, pucker. Whistle one little note. Anything to make me not like you.
    The song ended and Carrie Underwood’s Good Girl pounded out a quick beat. Raynie quickened her moves, shimmying and shaking. Hands above her head, she spun, threaded fingers through her hair, the wind catching strands and blowing them in every direction. Her lace sleeves swung in the breeze. She closed her eyes and rocked. When she opened them, something near her elbow, moving fast, caught her eye. She squinted. A dark creepy-crawly climbed toward her shoulder. Brown, lots of legs, pinchers.
    She screamed, dropped her drink, swatted at the creature, jumped up and down, and yelled again. The blood curdling sound pierced the air raising a flurry of birds from among the plants. They took flight as if being chased.
    Jared hopped from the truck, reached out, slung the bug to the ground and stomped it with the heel of his boot.
    Raynie vaulted into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. “What was that? Are there more?”
    “You’re fine. It looks terrible, but it isn’t poisonous.”
    She hugged him tighter. “Cross your heart?”
    He laughed. “Scout’s honor. Just a wind scorpion.”
    She dug nails into flesh, drew her feet up his body, and shrieked again. “A scorpion! A scorpion!”
    He weaved, but held onto her. “They look vicious, but they aren’t. They’re more afraid of you.”
    “It was so fast.” She clutched his neck with one hand and reached for the wine with the other. She took a long pull from the bottle, swallowed, and sucked in a deep breath.
    He was losing his grip, so he tightened his arms around her waist. Any other time, he’d be glad to have her clinging to him, but his back started to throb. “Hey, go easy on that. You’ll make yourself sick.”
    She took another swig.
    “Can you let up on your hold a bit? My left side is going numb.”
    “Oh, sorry.” She released him and drank again.
    He rubbed his back, then rolled a blanket into a makeshift pillow and placed it at the end of the quilt in the bed of the truck. “Lie back and watch the stars come out. That should calm you down.”
    “Promise no more wind bugs?”
    He glanced around. “I don’t see any.” He crawled onto the quilt and his back eased a bit.
    She reclined next to him. “Wow.”
    “I told you there’d be a beautiful sunset and night sky.”
    “Maybe so, but that doesn’t offset the dust and scorpions.”
     
     

     
     
    WHEN THE EVENING ended, Jared knew Raynie had accomplished everything on her list and then some. Dance. Sing. Be irresponsible. And plenty drunk. He tried to talk to her, but couldn’t rouse her. As much as he hated to, he turned on the overhead light and dug around in her purse. The invasion of privacy proved useless. He didn’t find any keys.
    By the time he reached the city limits, she slouched in the seat, and with no way into her house, he made a decision. He’d take her to his.
    After parking, he opened her door and attempted to help her out, but it was like trying to control a hundred pound wet noodle. He winced in pain as he hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her inside.
    He eased her onto the mattress, and removed her shoes, then sat on the edge staring at her. God, she was so beautiful, and if he wanted to keep her from hating him, he needed to confess. And in her drunken state, she might be more forgiving. “Raynie.” No response. He gave her a gentle shake. “Raynie?”
    “Mmm.”
    “I need to tell you something. I’m not a preacher.”
    Silence.
    “I should have told you days ago, but things kept happening.”
    She shifted and laid her hand on his thigh, a little too close for comfort. “Mmm.”
    “Did you hear me?”
    Nothing.
    He spoke slower. Louder. “I’m. Not. A. Preacher.”
    Her eyes fluttered open, and she patted him. “I was lucky to meet you, too.”
    “I didn’t say meet you,