Page 109 of Brim Over Boot
“Certainly not.”
“Oh, God,” he mutters, dirty palms on his knees. The clump of bellflowers waits beside him.
“Take your time,” I say, moving to Colton’s other side to place the flowers into the hole.
“Oh, God.”
My lips twist. “All right?”
“No. This is horrible.”
“Is it?” I ask, patting the dirt into place.
“I can’t.”
Like me, I presume.
“I think you already do.”
“So fucking cocky,” Colton grumbles. “See? This is why I can’t. Because you say shit like that, and you look at me likethat, and I just wanna…”
I give in to temptation and wipe the dirt off Colton’s cheek, my thumb lingering on his skin. “Shut me up?” I guess.
He deflates with his breath. “Well, yeah.”
“There are better ways of shutting me up, Colt.”
He sits with that as I bring the wheelbarrow back to the barn. I store it in the corner, having just enough time to turn around before Colton storms through the open doorway.
“You’re just so…” he starts.
“So what?” I ask calmly as Colton strides my way.
He pushes my chest, dirtying my shirt, and energy zips down my spine.
“So full of it,” he spits out. “So…sureall the goddamn time.”
“And that pisses you off?” I ask, preparing for Colton to come at me again.
He does. Shoving my chest once. Twice. “Yes, it pisses me off. Why do you get to have it all figured out, huh?”
“I don’t,” I assure him. “I’m just not fighting it.”
“Not fightingme,” he amends.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, grabbing his wrists when he makes to shove me again.
He twists out of my hold, blue eyes wild. “I just want…”
The vulnerability in his voice and the way his chest hitches has me closing the distance between us in an instant. I take Colton’s throat in my hand, and the man grabs on to my arm, his eyes feathering closed as his mouth pops open.
“This better?” I ask him roughly. “Need me to tell you to stop struggling?”
The sound he lets out is almost wounded. “I don’t know what I need, Noah.”
“Yes, you do.”
His eyes plead with me, his hand grabbing my shirt, the fabric bunching in his grip as his knuckles graze my skin. “I can’t.”
