He grunts in response.
That’s likely the only thing I’ll get from him, so I tug another item of clothing from the bag. He really got me everything — jeans and shorts, some leggings and sweaters, sneakers and boots I’ve always wanted to wear but never could. They’re brown with light stitching, a short heel and pointed toe. There’s even a hat to match.
I get about halfway through the lot when he stands up and starts making his way out of the room, shoulders stiff, his steps heavy.
“I’m going to get us dinner,” Is all he says before the door slams shut behind him.
Being unlikeable has never been an issue for me before; it’s why I am the way I am. I behave the way I do because Idon’tcare what anyone thinks. Or at least I thought I didn’t.
What does it fucking matter, anyway? I’m going to be off this ranch in two months, back in my house with the marble floors and modern décor, back with the money in my bank account and the world at my feet.
Who gives a shit if a cowboy from the ass end of nowhere likes me. It’s not like I’ve tried.
Who the fuck needs friends when I can have whatever I want? I can end any threat, kill my enemies and go to bed on a mattress that can sleep ten and wake up to do it all again.
In fact, I don’t want company. I tried that with Rio, and he betrayed me. Knox would likely do the same given half the chance, I’m sure.
Grabbing the bags of clothes, I take them all into the bedroom, emptying them out onto the bed. I’ve lost the spark to try on anything else, but they all fit, so I’m sure the rest will too. Taking the denim shorts off, I grab a pair of leggings from the pile and a cami, pulling them on, careful as I position them over the wound on my thigh and ribs. There was a brush in the bag, so I run that through my hair, catching on the knots and tangles since I’ve only been using my fingers to brush it out in the morning. Luckily there was a toothbrush, still in the original packaging in the drawer in the bathroom, but I have nothing. None of my home comforts, not even a damn razor.
I’ve no idea how people live like this.
“Elena,” Knox returns, slamming his way in, which seems his default setting.
My feet slap on the floor as I make my way through. Despite the lack of most things, it feels good to wear underwear, I won’t lie.
He places two plates down onto the worn table in thekitchen, some kind of meat and vegetables with creamed potatoes on the side.
“Sit.” He grunts, turning to the cabinet to pull two short glasses out. He takes his own seat and reaches for the bottle I left there earlier.
I slide into the chair opposite him, the smell of the food hitting me and making my stomach rumble. He quirks a brow, the sound reaching his ears.
“Do you ever cook in the house?” I ask, lifting my fork.
“Rarely.” He’s hunched over his plate, taking large forkfuls into his mouth. It’s like the man never eats, but that’s not possible, he’s stacked with muscle and so fucking tall.
“Why?”
“What’s with the questions?” He cuts his eyes to me. “Eat your food.”
I put the fork into my mouth. I realize it’s beef stewed in some kind of tomato sauce with onions. It’s good, what I assume hearty tastes like.
“When I buy groceries,” He sighs, “I buy for the workers, not the house. It’s rare there’s enough cash to buy two lots of groceries, so I eat with them.”
Something in my stomach twists. My father did this when he fed Rossi all that money, he did this. I didn’t care then, but I didn’t understand; I still don’t, not truly.
“Right,” I nod and spoon another lot into my mouth. “You cook it?”
“No, that’s Chase.”
“Ah,” I recall the cute redhead, “Him.”
“I see he introduced himself.”
“Something like that,” I chuckle.
“Don’t fuck with my guys, Elena,” He grumbles.
“You really think the worst of me, don’t you?” I reach for the glass he filled for me and take a sip of the harsh alcohol.
