“Tractors are meant to be ridden hard—trucks like this one, not so much.” I make a flaily gesture toward his sporty, unscratched, undented rental. It’s rather intimidating and fancy.

His half smile turns into a full-on grin, and his eyes move over me in a slow, hot sweep. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“I’ll let you ride me however you want if you give it a try.”

“How would that be different than any other day?”

He taps his lip thoughtfully. “Hmm, you have a point. You’re pretty demanding when you’re naked.”

“I’m trying to be helpful!” I defend myself. “I don’t see the point in being a passive recipient. Unless you’d prefer I keep you guessing as to what I like and what I don’t.”

RJ drags his tongue along his bottom lip. “I fucking love how expressive you are.” Palm flattening against my lower back, he pulls me into him, his erection pressed against my stomach. “Please, Lainey. Let me teach you something new.”

I glance at the truck and back at RJ. He looks so excited and turned on by the prospect. When I said I didn’t have a license, I didn’t mean that I can’t drive. I can. But I’m not comfortable on highways, and I’ve only ever driven on country roads—and always in a beat-up pickup truck, not something nice like his rental. Still, RJ thinks I don’t know how, and if he wants to persuade me to learn, who am I to take the opportunity away from him?

I’m sure I can handle driving on the road into town. Plus, I won’t have my mother beside me, freaking out when I get even close to the speed limit. She drives like an eighty-year-old on Sunday.

“Okay. I’ll give it a try.”

RJ helps me into the driver’s seat—which is mostly just an excuse to touch my butt—and adjusts the seat so I’m closer to the gas and brake pedals. He rolls down the window, closes the door, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Smile, baby.”

I give him a cheesy grin, excitement and nerves battling as he snaps a picture and rounds the hood. He gives me a brief rundown of all the dials and knobs before I slip the key in and turn the ignition over. The engine rumbles to life. I wipe my hands on my thighs, since I put lotion on before we left the cabin.

“Hey.” RJ places his hand over mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t doubt yourself, Lainey. You got this.”

I realize he must think I’m anxious, so I follow his instructions, shifting the truck into gear and tapping lightly on the gas pedal, sort of like I would when I’m driving a tractor. He lets me get the feel for the gas and the brakes by circling the wide-open driveway a few times. Every time I hit the brake, the truck lurches to a stop, gravel spitting from the tires. At first it’s not purposeful—the brakes on his truck are particularly touchy—but I’m having fun watching RJ be so attentive and concerned, so I keep doing it.

“Sorry.” I bite back a smile when he not-so-subtly braces a hand on the dash.

“You’re doing great—you just need to get a feel for how sensitive the gas and brake pedals are. Kinda like when I go down on you. If I want to make you come fast and hard, I need to hit your buttons like I mean it, but if I want to drag it out, then I’m gentle. Same principle.”

I cock a brow. “Is this whole driving lesson going to be explained in sexual analogies?”

He grins and shrugs. “Seemed like a good comparison.”

I roll my eyes but take his advice, barely tapping the gas when I want to speed up and gently moving to the brake when I want to stop. It’s actually a pretty accurate analogy. Eventually I make my way down the long driveway. When I reach the main road, my nerves become real. While it’s not a busy road, logging and transport trucks use it frequently, and the speed limit is higher than I’m usually comfortable with.

RJ stretches his arm across the backrest and gives my neck a reassuring squeeze. “You got this. Just take it slow, and you’ll be fine.”

The road is clear of traffic, no one coming in either direction. As far as “learning” to drive goes, this is probably ideal. I signal left, toward town, and ease out of the driveway. I’m currently only doing about twenty-five miles an hour, much lower than the posted speed limit. I check the rearview mirror. “What happens if someone comes up behind me?”

“You can always pull over and let them pass. Give it a bit more gas, gorgeous.” The pet name warms me from the inside.

I do as he instructs until I reach about forty-five miles an hour. “How do people drive on the freeway when everyone is going this fast and they’re all so close to each other?”

“You get used to it. You’re doing great.”

I like the praise, so I keep easing the speedometer up until I’m going the posted speed limit. “This is a rush!” I tell RJ.

He laughs. “It’s fun, right?”

“It is!” I glance over at him, taking my eyes off the road for a split second. Or maybe it’s a little longer than a split second, because when I shift my focus back to the road, a little red squirrel is bounding across the pavement. “Oh shoot!” I put on the brakes, tires squealing as the tiny rodent freezes. No one is coming in the other direction, so I swerve around it, managing to avoid turning him into a pancake. A few minutes later I pull into the parking lot of the pharmacy without additional animals playing chicken with the truck.

RJ reaches for the door handle. “I’ll be right back, unless you want to come in with me?”

“Um, I’m okay to wait in the truck.”

He leans over, drops a kiss on my cheek, and jumps out. As soon as he’s inside the store, I unbuckle my seat belt and switch to the passenger seat. Five minutes later RJ leaves the store as a blonde woman dressed in skintight jeans and a fitted sweater is about to go inside. She looks like she belongs in a commercial for perfect hair. Perfect everything, actually. I immediately hate her when she smiles at RJ in a way that tells me she appreciates what she sees.

His eyes flare, and for a moment his gaze shifts to the truck. He accepts a hug from her, and a tight feeling settles in my stomach as she runs her hands down his arms. It’s familiar. I don’t like it. She glances down at the bag, a coy smile on her lips as she tries to peek inside.

When he moves it behind his back, she flips her blonde hair over her shoulder and grabs the lapels of his down vest. RJ’s expression hardens, and he shakes his head, prying her fingers from his vest. Her expression shifts from friendly to irritated.

RJ motions to the truck. Her gaze follows his, and her eyes widen. I look down at my lap, suddenly uncomfortable. RJ said he’s been coming here for years. I’m not the only woman to notice how attractive he is, and based on how good he is in bed, I’m definitely not the only woman to experience his skill set there.

The rest of their conversation is short and stilted. He holds the door open for her and returns to the truck, his expression tense, which tells me more than I’d like—not just about who they are to each other but also about my feelings for this man. I shouldn’t be jealous. This is a summer fling. But somewhere along the way my heart forgot to consider what my brain knows: that this has to end.

RJ opens the driver’s side door and climbs in, tossing the plastic bag on the center console. “Sorry about that.”