Page 50 of Stay Toxic

He walked out the door with his paper cup without once glancing anywhere else, not catching me staring.

I was both relieved to find out that he’d missed me, and sad that we couldn’t have at least some form of connection.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe…

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” my sister repeated my thoughts.

“My thoughts exactly,” I agreed. “That man…”

“Is intense.” She turned and I was forced to look at her. “I need to get to work.”

I sighed. “Me, too.”

Well, I had about thirty minutes until I needed to be three minutes down the road, but I liked to get there early and get my lunch in the fridge before everyone else arrived—cough, cough, asshole ex, cough.

“Don’t tell our brothers about what we talked about today,” she grumbled as she gathered her cowboy hat up and placed it on her head.

She’d been wearing that damn hat for years.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, the hat meant something to her. That hat had been given to her by Kincaid McCall, her first boyfriend, her first ex, and her all-out rival on the ranch touching ours.

I picked my bag up, carefully caught my coffee cup, and headed out to the car with her.

When she went to her old dusty Chevy truck, I went to my dusty Jeep and threw everything over the back of my tailgate but my coffee and keys.

Without the doors on, you were really limited on what you left in the Jeep.

Pretty much, I had to bring it all in if I was going somewhere that people would swipe it without thought.

The coffee shop, though great, wasn’t in a really safe location.

Meaning, I couldn’t leave a thing in my car, no matter if I was sitting at a window booth within eyesight of it or not.

I’d just placed my coffee cup in my cup holder from the passenger side when a familiar voice called my name.

I nearly groaned.

I did squeeze my eyes tightly shut and prayed for patience.

When I was finished, I turned woodenly and stared at the man that had ruined my life all those months ago.

The man that I once thought would be my end game was now the villain in our story.

“What do you want, Rupert?” I asked quietly.

I was suddenly exhausted.

It wasn’t even seven in the morning yet, and already I was having to deal with bullshit.

Rupert’s bullshit was worse than actual bullshit, too.

I’d rather be mucking out stalls at the ranch with my bare hands and using my shirt as a bucket than dealing with Rupert.

Yet, there I was, having to deal with him.

“I want to talk to you,” he explained, stepping closer.

With nowhere else to go but into my Jeep itself, I stiffened.

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