As Trisha Yearwood once sang, he’s in love with the boy.Myboy. My Bubba. The man I platonically follow around like a lost little lamb. Johnny’s in love with him, but his sexual orientation is so repressed, he doesn't even realize it. The way he looks at Bubba leaves no room for interpretation. Johnny loves Bubba, and since Bubs is my meal ticket, it leaves me with only one option.
Johnny must be stopped. Then I can have Bubba all to myself. Not for romantic reasons, obviously. He just tends to my every need and provides for me financially. There’s nothing naughty or tawdry about it.
As they got ready for their men’s trip without me, I stomped my foot so hard it made the trailer shake. When you live in a trailer house stacked on top of a log cabin which only acts as a solid foundation for half the home, the last thing you want is to feel it shaking beneath your feet. Any other day, I might have cared. On this day, however, I wanted to bring the piece of shit tumbling to the ground.
I went as far as threatening to burn our DIY-commune to ashes in their absence, but it just earned me a spanking for what Bubba referred to as “terroristic threats.”
Threatmy ass. It’s a fucking oath.
After an unnecessarily lengthy journey, we pull up to a lakeshore. Bubba slides out of the truck and turns to face me. He says nothing, just stands there looking like a fucking snack, his mouth parted, breaths coming quickly. There’s sweat forming on his brow, which doesn’t make any fucking sense, because it’s not even hot outside today.
He touches our foreheads together and closes his eyes and smiles. “I’m glad you came today, Ezzy.”
I swallow, nodding, unable to hold his gaze because of its intensity. “Okay.”
He chuckles as he lifts me out of the truck. Normally, I’d insist he put me down, but after the way Johnny tossed my joint out of the truck and into the wilds of Redneck Hell, I kind of want to get him back. I want Johnny to see who he’s up against. He needs to know the lengths I’ll go to in order to win Bubba’s platonic favor. Luckily, he’s right beside me, sitting in the car, his hand on the door handle, staring at us, frozen in place as he watches me steal the heart of his BFF. Bubba tries to set me down, but I just tighten the grip my legs have around his waist.
“Baby, you’ve got to let me put you down. We have to get the tacklebox while Johnny Boy rents the boat.”
“Don’t care. I’m not walking on this damn gravel. You kidnapped me, you can carry me.”
Bubba stares down at the ground, not a pebble to be seen, and nods like my request makes all the sense in the world. “Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No one kidnapped you, and there’s no gravel,” Johnny growls. “It’s just sand, bro. Besides, you’re wearing shoes.”
I blink at Johnny. “I’m wearing heels, you sadist.”
Johnny stares down at my feet. “You’re wearing cowboy boots.” He cocks his head to the side, studying my shoes like he’s never seen them before. I don’t know why he’s so surprised. He was right beside me when I bought them a few weeks ago. He’s quiet for a moment, but it’s not an awkward silence, which is a little surprising, because everything about Johnny is awkward. “I like those. They’re pretty.”
The fuck?
“Thanks, I guess.”
He nods. “Your clothes ain’t awful, neither.”
“I know,” I agree. “But thank you for saying it.” I narrow my eyes. “Your newfound kindness kink changes nothing between us. Die. Die twice, actually.”
Sighing, Johnny flings open the door and hops out of Bubba’s jacked-up pickup truck “Well, fuck me for trying to be nice.”
I wouldn’t fuck him if he was the last man on Earth. Wanting to make sure he knows it, I look over at him, unable to speak as he bends over the side of the truck, reaching for something in the truck bed, because holy fuck.
For someone so hideous on the inside, Johnny sure has a lovely outside. Particularly that ass. It’s perky as fuck, and I just know it has to be super cute without underwear covering it. I’ve only ever seen him in boxer-briefs and the shirt he sleeps in at night. I did get to see his chest once, back when we first moved here and his buddy Clint gave them an at-home tattoo. It wasn’t an awful sight.
With the sun warm on my skin thanks to my rainbow tanktop and purple short-shorts, I snuggle up close, burying my face in Bubba’s neck, because I know it’ll piss Johnny off.
“We have lake at home, Bubs.” I mumble against his neck. “Why the fuck did we leave there just to travel here? How much gas have wewasted?” He tickles my side. I know he likes it when I call him Bubs. I don’t understand why, but I know it’s true, and I already take so much from him, what does indulging him hurt? “We were in the car for hours. Think of our carbon footprint. Not to mention how much of your hard-earned money you’ve just wasted on gasoline.”
“We were in the car for an hour, and it’s my gas to waste. You ain’t got to worry about any of that,” he says, probably trying to reassure me, but I’m feeling a bit prickish, and I kind of want to fuck with him for forcing me to be cooped-up.
“Your money is my money, therefore, your gas is my gas.”
His mouth quirks into a sly grin. “I ain’t very gassy these days, thanks to that diet you’ve got me on, but I’ve got a lot of cum. You’re welcome to every drop.”
I scoff. “Don’t want it. Don’t wanna touch it. Don’t wanna taste it.”
“Don’t want me to slip it inside your hungry hole with my finger, little guy?”
I whimper when he drags a finger down my cloth-covered crack, and then I realize what a depraved slut I must sound like, so I quickly pull away and glare. “The spirits are with me, Bubba.”
