Falling for You

by Bailey B

  After putting Hattie’s clothes back at the top of her closet and grabbing a shirt for myself off a hanger, I sit on her bed. Don’t ask me how, but she and Landon share a twin sized mattress. I can barely fit on a twin by myself, but somehow they sleep together on it more nights than not.

  My phone vibrates in my jeans for the umteenth time tonight. As much as I don’t want to, I pull it from my pocket. Eighteen text messages. All from the same person, and all of them will go unanswered until tomorrow. I hit the side button, to turn off the screen but another text comes through.

  Amanda: This is bullshit, Josh, and you know it.

  “You’re still here.”

  I look up at the sound of Layla’s voice and smile. Hattie’s pants are loose in the legs and hanging on by a thread at her hips. They’re obviously too big, but considering her other options, things could be worse. But what’s got my lips lifting and heart pounding is that Layla’s still wearing my shirt, and it’s sexy as hell.

  I slide to the edge of the bed and slip my phone back into my pocket. “Of course. Wouldn’t want anyone barging in on you.”

  Layla chews on her bottom lip and stares at me. “You’re not the same asshole cowboy I remember.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not.” I chuckle. There’s barely a shred of that kid left inside me. This year has beat him down, kicked him around, and spit on his face. If my life was a game of Jenga, I’m one wrong move from everything crashing down.

  “Good.” She smirks and closes the bathroom door behind her. “I didn’t trust him.”

  “He was a dick. I wouldn’t have trusted him either.” I flash her a grin then take the ten steps from the bed to the door and reach for the knob. Pulling it open, music seeps into the room. The pounding of the bass vibrates through me. I miss the quietness of Landon’s almost soundproof room. Loud noises make me anxious, which is why I used to drink so much. Nowadays, I try to stay outside where the music is barely more than a quiet hum.

  “Wow, that’s loud!” Layla yells. She marches through the living room and wiggles through a crowd. I follow her.

  Sam is nowhere to be seen, thank fuck, but that doesn’t mean Layla isn’t drawing the attention of wandering eyes. I step closer and shoot a back off glare at anyone who stares too long.

  We step out onto the front porch, closing the door behind us and she sighs. “That’s better.”

  Laughter carries from the backyard. I look over at the sound and make out the shape of five people standing around a small fire. Silhouettes move in the dark behind them, some dancing to the hum vibrating through the walls. Others just chilling. I don’t want to go over there. I don’t want to smile and socialize and pretend that life is great. It’s not. But I don’t want to leave Layla either. “Do you want a drink or something?”

  “We have to go back inside for that, don’t we?”

  “My truck’s over there. I’ve got a bottle of whiskey in my cooler.” I point across the grassy knoll towards the Baptist church. I took my usual spot under street light number three, the last paved spot in their lot.

  “Is that the same church where Sam and Kelly screwed?”

  “Yup.” I rub at the back of my neck. Suggesting we go to my truck might have been a bad idea. I may have just shot myself in the foot.

  Layla looks up at the stars. Her hair falls further down her back, leaving a wet trail everywhere it touches. After a moment of silence she meets my gaze again. This time, I get a good look at her eyes. I thought they were blue last year, but tonight they seem almost white.

  “I’ve never drank whiskey before. Is it good?”

  The night is warm, but a cool breeze sends a chill down my spine, causing goosebumps to break out across my flesh. I rub my hands against my arms. Josh notices and drapes his arm around me. He pulls me close, his body a furnace against mine. All too quickly, I’m hot. Too hot. Unreasonably hot. The kind of hot that makes your pits sweat and, being this close, I don’t want him to think I smell bad.

  Josh’s truck is at the end of the vacant lot, almost to the church. I could be wrong, but I think he’s in the same spot I first met him.

  As soon as we’re close, he lets me go. The air between our bodies is cold, but I’m grateful to cool off. I step closer to the truck, to him, and lean against the driver’s side door and look up at the sky.

  I thought the stars were noticeable at my aunt’s house, but here they light up the sky. Millions of fireballs burn bright, highlighting deep purple shadows in the clouds. Even on our clearest nights back home, the city lights create a smog-like filter. The sky never looks like this.

  I turn my head to the sound of metal scraping against metal. Josh tosses a boot from inside his toolbox to the bed of his truck. Something else clunks, a tool maybe. After a few minutes of searching, he finds what he’s looking for and slams his toolbox shut. I watch him walk around to the tailgate and lower it. He rummages through his cooler then sits on his newly made bench.

  “You coming?”

  I drop my arms to my sides and smile. I don’t know how I feel hanging out with Josh. People show their true colors when they’re drunk or angry. The man I met back in March was an arrogant jerk. Sure, he made nice at the beach, but I’m pretty sure he was trying to save face.

  He texted me a few times after I left. Called once too. I never answered. I didn’t see the point. My aunt made it clear when I got back home after Spring Break that the internship hadn’t worked out and I would not be welcomed back again. In my mind, there was no point in making friends I’d never see. If only I had known.

  I eye the half empty bottle of whiskey beside Josh, not looking forward to shots. The only time I’ve taken shots was at my brother’s twenty-first birthday party, and I was sick for two days after. I swallow the lump in my throat, hoping that whiskey isn’t as cruel to me as vodka was.

  Josh twists the cap and puts the bottle to his lips. There's an open can of soda beside him, but he doesn’t touch it. I wonder, Is that for me, but don’t ask.

  After his swallow, he holds the bottle out. Shutting my eyes, I tip it back. The bitter flavor is stronger than I like. I fight the urge to spit it out and swallow with a grimace. He chuckles and holds the Coke out to me. I trade him and push the fire further down my throat. Josh tips back the bottle and takes a gallon sized swallow, as if it doesn’t singe his insides.

  Without warning, the sky opens up and falls upon us. My ears hear the water droplets bouncing against the metal of his truck before my skin registers the cold rain hitting it.

  Josh jumps off the tailgate and takes my hand, pulling me close behind him, then shoves me into the backseat. He slides in beside me and shuts the door.

  My skin pricks, goosebumps peppering my flesh.

  Josh leans over the seat and sticks the key in the ignition, then turns the heat to full blast. He hits the radio, playing a local country station and a song I’ve never heard before.

  “Better?” he asks, falling back into the seat next to me.

  “Yeah, thanks.” The back seat of his truck is that of any car, big enough to fit three people, but for some reason it feels small. Before the first song ends, I’m sweating, probably from the hot air, but possibly because just being beside him makes me nervous.

  “So, how long are you here for?”

  “Um. Just the night, I guess.”

  Josh frowns and shakes his head. “You’re going back to Georgia tomorrow? That sucks.”

  If I could, I’d never go back to Georgia. I love my family, but they’re too much to take right now with me being a huge disappointment by not marrying their hand picked trust fund kid right out of high school. I know I need to return home for Christmas, but unless I absolutely have to, I’m not going back early.

  I smirk, keeping the secret that I moved to Florida a few months ago to myself. “It does?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it seems like every time I finally get to see you, you’ve got one foot out the door. It would be nice to spend some time with you.”


  “Really?” I take the hair-tie off my wrist and pull my locks up into a ponytail. Having my hair off my neck feels better. Cooler. Lord knows I need to cool off.

  “Well, yeah. You’re not like the girls around here.”

  “You don’t know what I’m like.” I sit back again and look Josh in the eyes. “You don’t know me.”

  “True.” He shifts, angling to face me better. He’s got this look, one that says he wants to touch me, but I’ve taken his chance away by pulling up my hair. “I'd like to though. What time are you leaving tomorrow?”

  I don’t know. I don’t even know for certain where I’m staying tonight. I assume with Hattie since she drove me here, but we never talked about it, or how I’m getting home. Now that I think about things, I’m essentially stranded in a strange town with nothing but my phone, ID, and a debit card that barely has enough money on it for a McDonalds’ meal.

  I swallow hard and push all of that aside. Everything will work out. It has to. “After lunch, I think. Hattie drove me here tonight, so I’m kind of at her mercy.”

  Josh grins and my heart flutters faster. He has a strong jaw-line, making his smile breathtaking. “Hattie will sleep until noon after a night like tonight. Do you want to hang out in the morning, before you leave?”

  “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

  The radio’s playing, warding away any lingering awkwardness as Layla and I ride in near silence. My stomach is in knots. I don’t get worked up over girls, but I also don’t pick them up for a day-date. Not that this could be called a date, but I’m hoping to get there.

  I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. My mind ran through a dozen scenarios for what to do this morning. When I asked Layla to hang out today, I hoped she’d say yes, but figured she’d shoot me down. Never in a million years did I think I’d get two days with her.

  When the light turns red, I lift the center console, eliminating the barrier between us. Layla looks at me, the corners of her mouth turning up, as she slides into the newly-created middle seat.

  “So,” she starts, breaking the ice. “You’re a bull rider?”

  “You remember that?” I fight a smile, both amused and horrified. To say that wasn’t my finest moment is an understatement. “I was, but I quit when I accepted a spot on UCF’s football team a few years back. All it takes is one bad bull to fuck up your day, but then my brother said he was leaving for medical school and, well, you know the rest.”

  “I don’t understand. What does he have to do with anything?”

  “Someone needed to stay behind and help Paw with the ranch. I drew the short straw, so to speak.”

  Layla chews on her bottom lip, mulling over my words. I don’t tell her about how the last bull I rode bucked me off and almost snapped my neck. I had two hairline fractures on my spine, a major concussion, and a headache that lasted for weeks. I didn’t need the doctors to tell me how lucky I was, or how stupid it would be to climb onto that beast again.

  “If you’re not a bull rider, then why did you use that line on me?”

  “Because.” I smirk. This chick got under my skin. In one day, she managed to do what girls have been trying to do for years: spark my interest. She took over my mind, weaseled her way into my thoughts, and gave me a dose of metaphorical blue balls I wasn’t ready for. Sitting next to her, I feel it again. That spark of interest. “If I wanted to ride a bull again, I could. Besides, that line’s never let me down before.”

  “It didn’t work on me. I guess it’s not a sure thing anymore.” She snickers.

  I shake my head. The girl’s got balls, I like it. “I guess not. What time are you flying back to Georgia tomorrow?”

  Layla turns her head toward the window again and bites the corner of her lip. She’s fighting a smile and it’s hot as hell. “Who said I was going back to Georgia?”

  My heart picks up speed, pounding like a conga drum in my chest. “You did. Last night.”

  She looks at me, letting that lip slip from between her teeth, unable to fight her grin any longer. “Did I, though?”

  “If you’re not flying back to Georgia tomorrow, where are you going?”

  “To work.”

  Work?

  That tells me nothing. I rack my brain trying to pick apart our conversation last night. Hattie drove Layla, which means she can’t live more than a few hours from here. I doubt she’s hopping on a plane tonight and going to work tomorrow, which means she probably lives in Florida. Possibly somewhere nearby.

  I roll the windows down and twist my fingers in the breeze. I know better than to get excited. Every time I let myself look forward to something, like the prospect of seeing Layla again, life shits all over my plans. “What do you do?”

  “I’ve been working for my aunt’s fundraising company. You’d be surprised how long it takes to set up an event from start to finish.” She rolls her window up and runs her fingers through her hair. I tuck my elbow in and roll mine up too, so not to come across as a dick.

  “Oh?” I don’t know shit about fundraisers. My knowledge goes about as far as showing up and handing them my money.

  “Yeah, the one we’ve got on Thursday has been a beast. It’s taken four months to get everything in order.” She turns her head to look out the window, a frown tugging at her lips. “Where are we?”

  We’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by large stretches of open land and pines. My tires cross off the pavement and onto a poorly graded road. Coins in my cup holders rattle. The glasses hanging from my rearview window swing like a pendulum. My tire sinks into a hole with a thud and we bounce in our seats. If not for the belts strapping us in, we’d be slung around like a forgotten bullet in a pair of pants in the dryer.

  After about fifteen minutes of bouncing, we reach the gate to Sam’s dad’s place. He has a nice chunk of land, ten acres, but ours is bigger. In fact, our ranch is only thirty more minutes down this road.

  So, why am I not taking Layla there? For one, I don’t bring girls home. Unless they’re coming to our annual Fourth of July party, and have been invited by someone other than me, the only people to ever walk on my land are my bros.

  I’m not embarrassed about where I live. We have two houses on the property: Paw’s, which is close to the barn, and then Mom’s house with the pool that I grew up in. Our land has been in the family for three generations and our family has been here for so long my great-grandfather’s name is on one of the street signs in downtown Sebastian.

  But I’ve seen the way Bret’s girlfriends’ eyes light up when he brought them around. Some saw the beauty of our home, while others saw a fortune and they wanted in. We aren’t rich by any means, but we aren’t poor either. Maintaining the ranch costs a lot of money, more than most people realize, and it's a lot of work, even more so since Paw passed, but it was his pride and joy. I’ll be damned if it goes to some yuppie because Mom can’t handle it herself and Bret is off chasing tail.

  Sam’s place, on the other hand, could only be considered a ranch on Halloween, when things pretend to be what they’re not. They have a dilapidated double-wide and a handful of scrawny cows that aren’t worth the cost to feed them. I keep my mouth shut, because those cows aren’t my problem and Sam has nothing to do with his dad. The only thing this place has going for it, besides the acreage, is that they have a killer barn.

  Crossing over Sam’s cattle grate, I veer to the left of the property and park beside that pole barn I was talking about. I turn the truck off, but leave the keys in the ignition. “You ready for this?”

  Layla looks around, her eyes slowly taking in the scenery. “What are we doing?”

  I bite back a grin, knowing what she sees: a herd of cows, too many acres of grass to mow without a tractor, and a sun-faded trailer. I hope she doesn't think we’re white trash. This may not be my piece of land, but it’s my way of life.

  I put my arm around Layla’s waist and link her fingers with mine. It’s the first move I’ve made, and she doesn�
�t seem to mind, which gives me hope. “So, around here,” I say, as we near the shed on the backside of Sam’s trailer, “when there’s nothing to do, we blow shit up.”

  Layla’s mouth falls open. I put my finger under her chin and push it closed. Her eyes meet mine for a second and those plump red lips, lift in the corner. I wait, looking for some sign that it’s okay to make my next move. I don’t normally think this much. I take what I want, a pretty smile usually my invitation, but Layla makes me nervous. There’s something about her that makes me want to try. It makes me scared to fuck this up.

  “Are y'all gonna stare at each other all day? Or are we gonna shoot?”

  I draw my gaze away from Layla and find Sam about a foot away, holding my .308 rifle out. I take a step back from Layla and grab my gun. Sam shakes his head, a cocky smirk on his face, then leans against the side of the shed, his twelve-gauge shotgun beside him.

  “We’re out of things to blow up…safely.” I walk to the firing line. Layla follows, stopping beside me as I reach the black spray painted line that marks a hundred yards from the targets. “So, the next best thing is to shoot something.”

  I raise my rifle to my shoulder and take aim. I’m ready to shoot, but hold off to look over at Layla. She bites her lip, those eyes giving me a once over she probably thinks I can’t see. “Might want to cover your ears. It’s pretty loud.”

  Layla’s delicate hands reach over her ears and I aim again.

  BANG.

  My shoulder hitches from the kick, but after years of hunting, I’m used to it. I re-chamber and shoot a few more times, hitting each target until the gun clicks, signaling that I’m out of rounds. Taking a few steps back, I turn and hand Sam the gun.

  Layla looks like a scared puppy that just found the biggest steak of its life. Excited, but intimidated. I wave her over and she runs to my side. When we reach the table Sam set our targets on, her gaze skirts across the exploded water bottles. “Dang, not too shabby.”

  I know I’m a good shot, but it’s nice to hear her praise. I swell with pride and stand tall. “Thanks.”