Miss Trailerhood by Carina Taylor (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📗

another layer of deodorant, thanks to the nervous sweat that was now my permanent state.

Not to mention, the lousy single-wide trailer was going to slowly cook me alive in the summer heat. I needed to add a window air-conditioning unit to my never-ending list of things to buy.

I grabbed my keys, locked the door, and pulled my Jeep in front of Riley’s. I counted to ten before I climbed Riley’s steps and knocked on the door.

It took her an inordinately long time to answer. I wondered if me kissing her had sent her into a spiral of shock. Riley liked to be in control of everything. Her five-year plans were legendary. By kissing her completely out of the blue, I’d probably sent that plan into a spiral.

The door opened. Wren stood there, smiling at me. “You taking Riley on a date? That old spinster?”

I scoffed. “Spinster? Who says that?”

She shrugged. “We just finished bingeing a BBC special set in regency England. I decided it was the perfect description of Riley. Maybe a grumpy spinster is an even better description.”

“I’m standing right here.” Riley’s growl carried through the doorway. Wren stepped out of the way, and Riley walked down the steps, wearing one of those onesie things that was a pair of shorts and shirt combined. She held a small purse in her hand.

“Wow.” She looked incredible. Her blonde hair curled casually around her shoulders. The one strap of her outfit showcased her toned shoulders.

“You’re welcome,” Wren said.

“What?” I asked absentmindedly, not taking my eyes off Riley.

“She wanted to hide in our room. I told her she had to go make friends.”

“What about boyfriends?”

That seemed to snap Riley out of her pout. “You are not my boyfriend.”

“Yet.” I grinned.

Her nose flared dangerously. I leaned forward and grasped her hand. “Let’s hurry along. Don’t want to be late for dinner. Bye, Wren.”

I pulled her toward my Jeep and opened the passenger door for her.

“You know you can be so annoying, right?”

“Right.” I nodded solemnly. I pulled the seat belt from her hands and leaned around her to latch the buckle. Her breath was quick, and she chewed her top lip. Her temper was adorable.

I walked around to the driver’s side and started the car.

“Which fast-food restaurant are you taking me to?”

“Hmm, well, it depends on if you want a cheeseburger or a taco.”

She leaned an elbow on the door while she looked at me in disgust. “I expected no more.”

“Why don’t you shut your judgmental little mouth?”

She gasped. “I take offense at that!”

I squinted at her.

“My mouth is not little!” Her lips twitched as she fought a smile.

“Why don’t you just wait and see where I take you for dinner?” I asked as I turned out of the trailer park.

I’d meant it as a rhetorical question, but she answered me anyway. It was whispered but still clear enough for me to hear. “Because I’m nervous.”

“Me too,” I answered her as I reached over to pry her hand loose from its death grip on her purse. I laced my fingers through hers. She squeezed my hand.

It was enough. I’d just kissed her. I’d acted on the attraction we’d both been feeling. We were entering dangerous territory. The territory where our friendship could be ruined forever. Which was not something I wanted to think about when I’d only just found her again.

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Well, you wouldn’t stop throwing things at me...”

She leaned over and smacked my leg.

“Ouch! This is what I get for dating a cougar.”

“A cougar?” Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re much, much older than me.”

“I am not!” Her lips scrunched together as she glared at me.

I grinned at her.

“Stop trying to make me mad.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Yes, you’re purposefully trying to make me angry, and I want you to stop.”

“But you’re so fun when you’re angry. And it seems like you like to kiss me when you’re angry.”

She mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?”

“I said I enjoyed kissing you for reasons other than anger, you big lug.”

“Big lug. No one’s ever called me that before.” While I had bulked up since my paper-thin days, I still had a lean build. Body builder, I was not. Instead, I had the more lean build of a tennis player or a soccer player. More wiry, less bulky. I was tall, but I wasn’t wide. When I thought of a big lug, I pictured the OxiClean man.

“Why did you buy this Jeep?”

I squeezed her hand. “You know why. I finally got my adventuring rig.”

She smiled softly. “We did have all sorts of adventures planned for our Jeeps.”

When Nola, Riley, and I had finally been old enough to drive, we’d talked about our dream cars. Riley’s and mine had been the exact same. Nola’s had been a fifteen-passenger van for her future children.

“What kinds of adventuring do you do?”

“I’m a photographer.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s what you meant earlier about liking taking the actual pictures. You do something then. I guess I’d assumed you were out traveling the world when you dropped out of college. So, what do you photograph? Weddings?”

“Every once in a while. Not if I can help it, though. I do a lot of outdoor stuff.” He leaned an elbow on the middle console. “I get to do quite a bit of traveling for my work.”

“What type of outdoor stuff do you do? I know I have mediocre photo skills, enough to scrape by on social media. The pictures you helped me take this afternoon were good. I’m assuming you actually know what you’re doing.”

That was something I loved about Riley. She never pretended to know something she didn’t. She didn’t have to be the smart-ass in the room who had the answers. She would just figure out how to do it the best. Some way, somehow, she made everything work for her.

“I shoot a lot of wildlife.”

She frowned. “You kill Bambi?”

“No, I mean I photograph wildlife, land. But mainly aerial photography for magazines—every once in a while, for a real estate