Page 44 of For Fillies and Monsters

But if I got rid of the swing, then I was getting rid of the only good things that I had with my mother. Hate her or love her, I couldn’t get rid of those. I couldn’t face the baggage, the crippling sorrow and anger that I carry with me because they’re so intertwined with the joy and peace.

But now, with Gus’s arms slung across the back of the old wood, it feels like something different.

Like I can regroup the memories of my mother, holding only the happy ones close to the jagged remains of my heart, and get rid of the rotten ones. Cling to the good things she gave me and burn the rest.

It feels like maybe the sad, broken, rejected pieces ofmemight be able to be fixed. Or at least rearranged into something that is worth appreciating once more—not new or shiny, but strong and whole and sturdy.

It feels like hope. Like Gus could see the decrepit parts of me, and instead of throwing them out, make them something whole again.

“It’s not.” The words are barely above a whisper. “It’s where my mom and I sat, it’s—” I don’t have the right words to tell him. But based on the look on his face, I don’t need to. He knows. He knows, and he’s not afraid.

It’s terrifying. And intoxicating. Both emotions send a bolt of desire so hot through me, I feel like I may momentarily combust into flames.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and I have to keep from drooling. Truly. The saliva pools in my mouth, and I bite my lip to keep it from spilling out. I swallow and he, of course, notices, his eyes tracing my throat.

“If I had known that was all it would take to impress you, I would have done this before I fixed your corral and startedon the pasture fences.” He’s teasing me—offering a reprieve from the overwhelming memories and emotions swirling in me, and I have never been more grateful for him.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just didn’t know you were nice, is all.” I mean it as a tease, but even to my ears it sounds like a challenge. A challenge that has Gus smirking.

“I am very nice.”

I look around, anywhere but at his dark figure. He’s too hot for his own good, and I can’t think straight when I’m around him—especially when he’s beingnice.

I’m tracing an arc in the sand with my toe, my eyes following my foot when I open my big, fat,stupidmouth. “Nice-looking maybe.” My foot freezes, eyes blowing wide—did I just say that? I don’t look up at his face as heat crawls furiously up my neck and over my chest. He laughs, the sound both bitter and surprised, and I wonder if he doesn’t realize what his looks do to the people around him.

“You think I’m nice-looking?”

I bite my lip—well, fuck.I walked into this shit, and I refuse to be a meek little girl, even if I’m embarrassed and making an ass out of myself. My eyes find his, and I try to focus on the dark pools instead of the panty-melting smile claiming his lips.

“A little.” Who the fuck am I kidding? “But not reallynice.”I air quote as I say the word nice. “Scary, dangerous, hot.” I shrug off my confession.

His eyes widen a fraction, his smile spreading further to one side, a flash of teeth sparkling in the growing darkness.

It’s the hottest he has ever looked. And even if it kills me, I vow to make him do it again—I don’t fucking care how.

“I guess the boss clocked out for the night?” he teases, and I tense. Fuck, I’m not being professional in the slightest. I inwardly groan; I’m so tired of being professional around him.

“Just being friendly.”

We have too many labels swimming between us. Boss, employee, dirty cowboy, little filly, friend. It’s all getting so confusing.And frustrating. Because we both know none of the labels are sticking—not really. We are in limbo, somewhere between, and yet farther than any of those labels depict.

And way too fucking afraid to say it or do anything about it.

“And what is Nathan exactly?” He’s still smiling, but the friendliness has slipped. It borders on manic, and I shiver. It’s like he can’t control himself, like he feels compelled to know, to control—and I crave the dominance, the raw hunger, the uncontrollable anger. Even if that makes me as fucked up as he is.

So, what do I do? I push back, just to see how crazy he really is. To see how deep the shadows go. “Jealous?” His eyes darken at the single word, and I realize how utterly stupid I’m being. How will we come back from this? How willIcome back from this?

Stupid, horny bitch. I can’t control myself around him, and my traitorous body knows it. Weak—I am so fucking weak.

He cocks his head, dark curls sweeping across his face. It’s nearly black out now, the night fully swallowing any streaks of daylight—and with it, any remaining safety I might find in the light. I need to get inside. I need to get away from this situation. Because if he makes a move toward me, I know I won’t stop him.

I’ll fall to my knees and beg him.

I bolt into action, racing up the stairs, and brush past his dark frame with nonchalance I don’t feel. I freeze, trapped in a sweetly sick cloud of perfume that makes my stomach roll, and I fight the urge to gag.

“What is that smell?” I don’t look at him as I hiss, too afraid to see his face this close. He chuckles, standing up behind me. He’s so close now, the heat from his body radiating in wavesaround mine. Goosebumps pebble over my skin, and I suck in a sharp breath.

He apparently doesn’t want to wait around for me. I should be glad, it means my barrier worked. But instead, I feel murderous, betrayed, violent.

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