Page 64 of Chasing the Wild
He’s silent on the other end for a moment. No doubt checking the conditions outside.
“You know as well as I do, I’d be there any time of day or night if you needed… but this one looks like she’s gonna be a real bitch.”
Storm’s right. I know he is.
“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
There’s a static-filled silence.
“What about the girl?”
“Mind your business.”
“Just saying, she couldn't stop looking for you around the bonfire.” My gut twists. Storm is too goddamn perceptive for his own good at times. “Also, couldn’t help but notice that you might have been ready to shove that shotgun down someone else's throat, too, even before Pierson turned up. All for letting her sit pretty on his tailgate and get a little friendly.”
“You didn’t see fuck all.”
His laughter echoes through with a tinny crackle. “Sure, old man. You’re absolutely right. I didn’t see a thing.”
Heading into the barn,my heart bucks around in my chest like a bronc trying to unseat its rider. After talking with Storm over the radio, I’m keyed up, hoping like hell it was only the fact he knows me so well after all this time that gave him any clue there might be something more between me and Layla.
Something more than has any right to exist.
The scent of cedar and hay alongside the soft snorts of the horses greets me. All their curious sets of eyes peek out and follow me, giving me the exact looks that tell me they know my secrets.
Of course, it doesn’t take long until I find the gorgeous girl who is mucking out the furthest stall. A pink flush coats her cheeks, and her headphones are in as she works.
Which means I get to stand here like a fucking pervert watching her bend over, just so I don’t give her a heart attack creeping up from behind.
My cock thickens the moment I’m near her, like some damn automatic response to her presence. I’ve spent the better part of the day fighting off the need to see her and the rest of it willing away an erection just at the memory of her grinding in my lap.
When she had me shooting cum in my jeans like some sort of randy teenager.
Now, I’ve got a front-row seat to all her curves and softness.
Layla doesn’t hear me approach, too caught up in what she’s doing, and the music she’s listening to drowns out the scuff of my boots against the ground. So I knock on the woodenframework, as if I need to fucking announce myself at my own ranch.
She jerks up and spins around, snatching one of her earbuds in the process of doing so. Her lips drop open a little as she takes in the sight of me and my breath catches in my chest. A giant hand reaches in to squeeze a tight fist around all my vital organs at the moment our eyes lock on one another for the first time in a week.
This is the power Layla Birch has over me. What this girl does to me, without even so much as trying, every single time. I’m so fucking fucked.
“Hey,” she says softly, her lips roll together while plucking the other earbud out, too. “Is everything ok?” I see the way a tiny crease furrows her brow, but she hesitates to step any closer.
Damn it. This is my fault. The fact that in her mind there has to automatically be something wrong to warrant me coming and seeking her out is telling enough.
“No, no. Nothing’s wrong.” I wrap my palm around the back of my neck. Feeling prickly and clammy all over. Like my tongue is too damn big for my own mouth. “Just need you to come down with me to help check the cattle before this front sets in.”
“Ok.” Her eyes drop, and she sets the shovel aside.
“We’ll need to take the horses. Snow’s coming down thick out there.”
“Sure.” Layla edges past me, keeping herself as far away as possible as she passes through the opening to the stall.
I hate the way her eyes stay fixed on the floor and that I’m the asshole who has made this such a difficult thing to endure. All I want to do is reach out and catch her hand as she scoots past, to hook her pinky finger and tug her into my chest.
But I do the rational, sane thing and don’t maul the girl half my age right here in the middle of the barn. Because I’m a gentleman.
A. Real. Fucking. Gentleman.
