Page 41 of Resisting Isaac
But then, I don’t feel like I’ve seen that guy in weeks.
Instead, I’m walking toward the north fence line with two cold beers and a head full of trouble.
Trouble with long legs, a smart mouth, and eyes like a thunderstorm.
She’s sitting on the top rail, staring out at the horizon, a strand of hair stuck to her cheek. She’s still in her riding jeans and boots, black tank top knotted at the waist. There’s dirt on her knee and a raw edge to her posture, like she’s holding something in she wants to let loose.
I almost turn back.
Almost.
Instead, I scuff my boot in the gravel, so I don’t spook her. “Didn’t expect to find you out here. We’re done for the day.”
She glances over her shoulder. “Didn’t expect to be followed.”
I hold out a beer. “Figured you earned this.”
She eyes it like she’s not sure whether to accept or toss it at my head. Eventually, she takes it with a small nod. Our fingers brush. Just for a second. But I feel it in my ribs.
“I didn’t mean to take over with Nora today,” she offers after a sip.
I try to recall what she’s talking about then remember that she stepped into the help with the actress earlier this morning.
“I don’t mind. I appreciate the help.”
“You sure?” she pushes. “You seemed a little…tense.”
Because I haven’t gotten laid in three weeks.
I shrug. “I’m probably always going to seem tense around you.”
She goes still.
I crack my beer, take a long swallow, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“You surprise me, that’s all,” I admit. “In more ways than one. Didn’t realize you had that much horsewoman in you.”
Her voice softens. “It’s the only thing I ever felt good at growing up.”
We fall quiet for a beat. The sun’s setting low and orange, bleeding across the sky.
Then she says, “Sorry if I’ve been a bitch during training. Sometimes it’s hard for me to get comfortable with people.”
I glance at her. “Someone call you a bitch?”
Because I’m breaking jaws if that’s the case.
“No, not to my face. But I see the way the group all gets along. They hang out, go to dinner together. I never quite fit,” she says softly.
“I don’t think you’re a bitch,” I say. “I think you’re dangerous.”
Her eyebrows lift. “To your ego?”
“To my sanity.”
That earns me a smile, and damn if I don’t feel like I just won the lottery.
“You do a great job helping out with the others,” I add. “It’s been a big help.”
