JENNY
After our argument, I decided to be completely and totally normal around Lucas Cross.
It’s going just as poorly as my attempt to ignore him entirely.
He’s just… magnetic. In the most insufferable, incompetent way. No matter how hard I try to treat him like any of the other ranch hands, my eyes linger on the width of his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps, his fucking tree trunk thighs. I do my best to hide the fiery attraction behind disdain, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not working very well.
He catches me staring far too often.
To be fair, I stare far too often.
That’s how we ended up in the truck together, heading to Bozeman. Me and my fucking staring problem.
I was just watching him try — and fail — to load Ernie into the trailer. I had been planning to make a few snippy comments about his lack of expertise before leaving him to struggle. It wasn’t supposed to turn into anything resembling a conversation, and it wasn’t supposed to end with us taking a fucking road trip, either.
But seriously, I just don’t want him fucking things up. After all, I’ve finally got the ranch running like a well-oiled machine. Dad’s on track with upkeep on the ranch, Mary’s doing a great job on the marketing side of things, and Wayne is handling all the legal matters. I’m not about to let Lucas fuck all of that up just because he can’t do his job. Client relations is theeasiestpart of running the ranch, although considering he can’t even load a horse in a trailer, I can’t say I’m surprised.
It’s just smarter to tag along and make sure he doesn’t ruin things.
That’s all it is, right? That’s why I’m here.
This has nothing to do with our argument, or the fact that I’ve been unable to stop thinking about it — abouthim— for the past week.
Nothing at all.
I refuse to admit that I feelguiltyover blowing up at him like that, but maybe I went a little overboard. I shouldn’t have gone for the throat the way I did, but it’s not like he pulled any punches either. The only reason I can’t stop thinking about it is because I didn’t expect him to get so angry. He never blew up at me like that when we were kids, never snapped no matter how hard I pushed him. I was always the hothead between the two of us, but that was when I was younger. I’ve gotten better about it these days, and it’s not often that I really let my anger get the best of me … well, except when it comes to my family. The arguing I do nowadays is a far cry better from the screaming and throwing things I used to do. Dad and Wayne are probably still convinced I should go to anger management, but if they’d stop pissing me off, there’d be no need. Those fuckers know how to push my buttons like no one else.
Well, like no one else but Lucas.
I’m a little embarrassed by how quickly he riled me up that night—during the argument. Not during anything else. I didn’t get worked up over anything else at all, not even a little.
It feels weird to bring it up, especially since I don’t particularly intend to apologize for anything I said. At least, not unless he wants to go first. Still, my skin is itching with the need to fill the silence between us in the truck. I struggle not to say anything. Even the slightest hint of conversation is risky.
I last an hour before I break.
“You remember the road trip we took in senior year?”
That’s… not what I expected to say. I didn’t really have a plan when I opened my mouth, but I guess a trip down memory lane is a safe enough topic. I’ll just have to keep my thoughts away from how desperately in love with him I was.
Great start.
Lucas looks over at me, blue eyes narrowed in confusion.
Yeah, I don’t know either.
“When we skipped before spring break?” he asks cautiously, like he expects me to yell at him for answering my question. “What about it?”
I shrug, not really sure where I’m going with this. It just feels like it would be good to talk without arguing. I should probably stop.
“Just feels familiar,” I say, waving vaguely around the cab. “Didn’t have a horse with us that time, and your truck was beat to shit, but y’know. Kind of the same.”
The change in our relationship goes unspoken.
“My truck wasn’tthatfucked up!” he defends, a slow grin spreading across his face. “And this isn’t that much better.”
His truck was absolutely that fucked up, the weather stripping crumbling and the suspension creaking threateningly with every bump we hit, but I kindly don’t point that out. He’s not wrong about the spare truck Dad keeps being rough aroundthe edges, though. I hate taking it anywhere, but needs are needs, and truthfully, Dad has a lot of affection for this old thing. For some reason.
“At least we won’t slide off the road this time…” I tease, a matching grin on my face. “You know, because I’m the one driving.”
