Page 74 of Wild Eyes
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WEST
“I can’t believeRosie had the staff bring those bumpers out for Rhys.” Skylar laughs the words from where she’s sitting a little crooked in the passenger seat beside me.
I handle the wheel carefully and bite down on my smile. “I can. Rosie takes her shit-talk seriously. You should have seen her and Ford when we were kids. Out to kill each other with their jabs.”
“Turns out they just wanted to fuck each other.”
I bark out a laugh. Tipsy Skylar has zero filter, and I love it.
“They’re a cute couple,” she adds, a wistful note in her voice.
“They are.”
“They’re good friends, aren’t they?”
I peek over at her as we hit the last stoplight on the road that leads us back to the farm. “They are.”
“They genuinely enjoy each other’s company.”
I nod. “Yeah, they do.”
Skylar hums, lips working as though she is chewing on those words. I wonder if she’s thinking about what I told her about Mia and me.
“That must be nice.”
My palms twist on the wheel as her words hit unexpectedly hard for drunken mumblings. “Mm-hmm,” I manage to get out, but then we fall into silence as we cover the final stretch back home.
Home.
An ache cracks my chest. During the weeks I don’t have the kids, it doesn’t feel much like home. I thrive in social situations, surrounded by friends and family. The horses are great companions, but they’re often not enough.
When Ford moved back, I looked forward to having my best friend around, but our dynamic has changed. And I don’t begrudge him one bit.
But some days I meander around the property, searching for things to do. Wondering if no matter how fun and likable I am, there’s something about me that isn’t enough to keep people around.
People who enjoy my company and don’t just want to tie me down. Lately, I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than being on my own.
With this in mind, I pull up in front of the house and proclaim, “You shouldn’t go to sleep yet. You’ve had too much tequila.”
She directs her amber eyes to me as I turn the truck off. “You don’t have to take care of me. I’ve been drunk before.”
“I know,” I say before I hop out of my seat and round the truck to her side. I tug open the door and look up at her.
She turns, pointy heels catching on the side runner of my truck. Her eyes cascade over me as though she’s sizing me up. “Can we do night check, then?”
I perk up, a grin stretching my lips. “I’ll grab you a bottle of water.”
Without even thinking, I reach for her. My hands wrap around her rib cage, and I lower her to the ground, purposelyignoring how the flats of her palms feel against my pecs. The way her pinky moves in a stuttering path, out and back in.
The motion draws both our eyes for a beat, but she clears her throat and steps away.
“Helping me out of cars now, huh? Thought you knew you don’t need to take care of me.”
My throat feels hot and so do my cheeks as I turn away. I need to go get her a bottle of water before I do something stupid like shove her up against my truck and kiss her.
So I stride toward the old farmhouse, but not without glancing over my shoulder and calling back to her, “I know I don’t need to. Doesn’t stop me from wanting to, though.”
