“Callie—”
“I’m kidding,” I assure him, though I’m not entirely sure I am. “We’ll be careful. Ish.”
“That’s reassuring,” he mutters.
I find my underwear hanging from a nail on the wall, which pretty much sums up the evening. As I’m getting dressed, trying not to think about how I’m going to explain the hay in my hair if Dad catches me, Jesse takes my wrist.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asks with that cocky grin.
“You three are insatiable,” I tell him.
“Says the woman who just took all three of us and asked for more,” Boone points out.
“Fair point,” I concede. “Fine. Tomorrow. But someone needs to bring water because I nearly died of dehydration just now.”
“I’ll bring a whole cooler,” Wyatt promises.
“And maybe some towels,” I add, looking at the mess we’ve made.
“And a gag,” Jesse says with a smirk.
“You wish,” I shoot back, heading for the door.
“Pretty girl,” he calls after me, “I don’t have to wish. You’ll beg for it eventually.”
I flip him off without turning around, but we all know he’s probably right.
As I sneak back across the property, I can still feel them on my skin, in my muscles, everywhere. My body aches in the best possible way, and I know tomorrow’s going to be worse.
This is just lust, I tell myself. Just four people who want each other and are silly enough to act on it. Nothing more.
But as I climb back into bed, smelling like sex and hay and three cowboys, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m lying to myself.
Not that it matters. Whether lust or something more, I’m already addicted.
8
Wyatt
I’m fixingthe fence post that Boone backed into with a tractor yesterday when I see Callie’s truck pull into her driveway at 6:47 a.m. She’s trying to be stealthy, coasting with the engine off, but stealth doesn’t work when your truck’s muffler sounds like it’s having a seizure.
From my vantage point on the hill, I can see everything. Including Hank Thompson standing on the porch with his arms crossed like he’s auditioning for the role of Disappointed Dad in a Lifetime movie.
This should be interesting.
Callie climbs out of her truck, and even from here, I can see her shoulders tense when she spots her dad. She does this thing where she squares up, lifts her chin, and prepares for battle. It’s the same stance she took right before she told me my chili opinions were “bad, just really bad,” last week.
I shouldn’t be watching this. It’s private family business, and I’ve got my own problems to deal with. But I can’t look away as Hank holds up what appears to be a newspaper, waving it like it’s his mantra.
Callie’s voice carries across the pasture, clear as day in the morning quiet.
“Oh good, newspaper dancing, Dad. My favorite way to start the morning.”
I snort despite myself. Leave it to Callie to sass her father during what’s clearly meant to be a serious conversation.
Hank’s voice booms back, “This is not a joke, Callie Marie!”
“Everything’s a joke if you try hard enough, Dad. That’s what keeps me sane in this whacky world we call life.”
