Page 57 of Texas Kissing
She reddened and coughed. “No. Hey, we should think up names.”
“Names?”
“You know. For…” she indicated her outfits. “Us.”
“Lily’s a pretty good name for a saloon girl, you ask me.”
Her eyes got that faraway look again. “Mary. I like Mary.”
I nodded. “Okay. Good, solid, country name. Mary.” I looked down at myself. “I could be Cletus.”
Lily let out a snort. “Cletus?Oh, come on. Who’s called Cletus?”
I blinked at her, then lowered my eyes.
She put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. Your real name is Cletus, isn’t it?”
“No,” I said, looking off into the distance.
“Oh God, it is, isn’t it? I’m so stupid.Cletus. There’s nothing wrong with Cletus. IlikeCletus.”
I just stood there stoically.
“Bull—Cletus. I’m really sorry.”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I erupted into laughter, doubling over.
“Oh, youbastard!”She looked around for something to hit me with. “You...Argh!”
I pulled her close and hugged her, still quaking with laughter. “Yourface,” I told her. “I wish I could have kept it going. You were so damn guilt-ridden. You would have agreed toanything,in bed tonight.”
Lily drew back and stared at me, shocked. Then she gave me a tiny smirk and muttered, “Notanything.”
God, I loved this girl.
We took our turn in front of the camera and for a while we couldn’t keep a straight face. But at last, we found a pose that worked: me standing behind her with my hands around her waist. I looked solemnly into the camera, the sheriff who’s caught his quarry, and Lily gazed into the lens with a sort of pride. As if being caught was exactly what she’d wanted.
We waited while the guy printed out the photo. He seemed surprised when we turned down the offer of an emailed copy—he said we werea real sweet couple.But Lily insisted. I pocketed the printed copy and told her I’d get it framed.
“So whatisyour real name?” she asked, when we were back in our street clothes.
“Bullismy real name.”
“No, but really.”
I just looked at her. Eventually, she shook her head. “I’ll get it out of you eventually,” she said.
44
Lily
When we’d eatenour fill of food-on-a-stick, Bull drove us home. I felt like even more of a country girl, being driven around in a pickup.
When we reached a junction, he stopped. I looked at him quizzically.
“Your place?” he asked. “Or...”
I could see the concern in his eyes. After all the times I’d run out on him, he was worried that I was going to get cold feet again.