I think I could be happy anywhere at all. As long as I’m with him.
“Are you okay on your own tonight? I need to find Tripp.”
He pats my leg before rising from the chair. “I’ll do just fine puttin’ myself to bed. The drama’s worn me plumb out.”
I smile. “Thanks, Pops.”
I bolt to my car, desperate to find the man who has made me want to throw out every damn list and plan I thought I needed andjust live.
You Think I'm Pretty
Tripp
Ilick my lip, the metallic taste of blood still sharp on my tongue where Wes split it open earlier. I’m hoping the couple of hours I’ve given him is enough to calm him down so he won't come out of his front door swinging.
I groan when I get out of my truck, my ribs a little sore where I didn’t block his punch in time. I’m too old to be brawling on Pops’ front lawn.
Sawyer’s dog, Dixie, greets me at the porch, tongue lolling out in a doggy grin. I give her a belly rub, hoping spoiling their dog might earn me some brownie points.
Sawyer opens the door when I knock, leaning on the frame with her arms crossed and a glare that makes my balls shrivel up.
“Sawyer,” I say tentatively.
“Did you come to say something idiotic so Wes will kick your ass some more?”
I snort. “No. I came to apologize.”
Her lips twitch, and she nods toward the stable. “He’s been out there with the horses since we got home.”
“Did he go riding?”
She shakes her head. “No. Just sulking while he grooms Luci and does night check.”
“Thanks.”
She arches a brow. “Might not be thanking me if he ends up still pissed as hell and throws more punches. I’m not saving you this time.”
I snort. “Would never expect you to,” I say as I make my way back down the porch steps.
If Sawyer had to choose between me and Wes, I knew she’d choose Wes every time.
“Good luck,” she calls.
I pick up my stride, eager to get this conversation over with so we can go back to being best friends again. And so I can fix things with Quinn.
The rumble of Wes’ voice slows me. He’s talking to the horses, words too low to catch. My boots scuff the floor, and he turns, frowning when he sees me. His left eye is turning black and blue, and his nose looks a little swollen.
“What the hell areyoudoing here?”
“Sawyer told me you were out here doin‘ night check. Figured I could lend you a hand.”
“Don’t need your help,“ he grumbles.
Stubborn ass.
“Suit yourself. I’ll sit here and apologize while you do all the work.”
He skewers me with a glare, but keeps shoveling hay into the feeders with sharp, angry movements.
