He pushes a wild curl behind my ear, his fingertips feather-soft across my cheek. “You are on a farm… in a pasture… with cows.”
“Hey, Rayne,” Gage interrupts. I twist sideways to where he’s still standing in the same spot with the same grin. He scuffs the toe of his well-worn boot in the dirt, sending a spiral of dust up around the ankles of his ripped jeans. Two or three inches shorter than Preston, he’s brickhouse-stocky with more hair everywhere, thick, coarse, and dark as night. Everything about him is grittier, except his sky-blue eyes.
I blink up at him, the sun glinting across the lenses of the sunglasses propped on his head. “What now?”
His grin expands, stretching out his lips. “You shouldn’t booze tonight. We wouldn’t want you to get… shit-faced.”
I narrow my eyes, but my lips betray me, curling up despite my struggle to stitch them down. I laugh, losing my balance, then teeter backwards and drop spread eagle onto the dirt at the feet of the hot guy who wants to date me.
“I’ve got this.” Preston slides his arms behind my knees and back, scooping me into his chest, the strength in his muscles rippling under the cotton polo. I want to nestle my head into him, but that’d be weird, so I circle my arms around his neck and squeeze, maybe a little tighter than necessary.
He smells of cologne and bug repellent, an odd concoction, but it masks the stink coming from my foot. The curve of where his neck reaches down to his shoulders is taut, his skin the color of cinnamon toast, probably from the Howards’ recent Caribbean vacation.
He stops at the pond’s edge where the murky water melts seamlessly into the grass bank, sets me on my feet and kneels beside. He pinches the clean strip of leather on the top of my sandal between his fingers and delicately slides if off my foot, careful to not drag his own hand through the filth. A few semi-hardened chunks fall off in the grass in front of us. He grimaces. I cringe and look up at the sky. I don’t know what I’m looking for, maybe an asteroid hurtling in my direction or the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Could there be anything left to suck as bad as this?
As he scrapes the edges and bottoms of my sandal across a large rock at the water’s edge, the majority of the poop, now nearly dried and starting to crack across the top, flakes off, leaving a thin muddy smear across the leather and bottom treads. He sweeps it back and forth in the pond, and then commences rubbing it in a tuft of grass. Over and over again, he goes from grass to water and back again, each time, more of the poop dispersing.
I follow his lead, walking through the grass, dragging my foot behind me like a maimed animal, letting the friction rip away some of the larger dried clods. Then I thrust my naked foot in the water and slosh it around, turning the poop remnants into sticky brown swirls over my toes. With each foot drag and subsequent pond-water bath, my skin’s natural color finally returns—even if the stench remains.
Jaycee and Gage stand by, watching the whole thing with ridiculous smiles. It’s like being on one of those old-fashioned courtship affairs complete with awkward chaperones. Except I’m pretty sure those don’t include cow shit. I’m also pretty sure Preston didn’t bargain on his first act of seduction to include cleaning said crap off my sandal.
Preston walks over to me, squats down and grabs my calf, tapping his fingertips against my skin as a way of telling me to pick up my foot. When I do, he slides the newly-cleaned sandal back over my toes, but when he’s done, he leaves his fingers there, pressing into my skin. The lingering dampness causes my leg hairs to bristle, morphing them into tiny razors beneath his touch as he rubs up and down my leg. Surely I should say something flirty or giggle or do some other girly thing, but my mind goes all stupid, and I mumble out the one thing I can’t screw up. “Thanks, Preston.” I glance down and lock eyes with him.
“Welcome.” His gaze sinks to the edge of my cut-off shorts and pauses there, and instinctively I drop my hands down in front of my thighs. Preston jumps to his feet, standing so close his elbow grazes mine. “Barrett’s Grandma probably has some soap up at the main house.” He points to a white porch-wrapped farmhouse on a hill in the distance. “That’ll probably help with… the smell.” He looks down quickly and grins, stifling a laugh.
Gage snort-laughs, and Jaycee clamps her eyes shut, shaking her head back and forth. The flame of embarrassment in my throat shoots heated spirals across my cheeks. “Yeah… thanks,” I mumble.
Preston bites his lower lip and nods, and then does just what I’m praying for. He changes the subject. “Y’all coming over to see the main event?”
“Main event?” I shift back and forth between legs, more self-conscious than ever and unsure of exactly where to put my hands. On my hips? No, too bossy. Hanging by my side? No, too boring. Certainly not crossed in front of me—that’s classic body language for “stay away.”
“Mudslinging. There’s a pit on the other side of that hill.” He points beyond the grassy pasture where a line of jacked up 4x4s slowly creeps out to an expanse of red Carolina clay. “Ever been?”
Yeah, right. Mama would probably get some sort of ESP and come down here herself to jerk me out of the truck. If she didn’t kill me, the embarrassment would. “No, I’ve never been.”
“Probably a good thing,” says Gage, walking closer. “You might not be able to handle it.” Everyone stops in their tracks and turns toward him. He’s chewing on a thick reed of grass, eyes locked on me. When I narrow mine, he wriggles his eyebrows twice.
Preston shakes his head and skims his fingertips along my arm, scattering chill bumps over my skin. “He’s a bad influence. You’ll learn that if you hang around with him long enough.”
Before I can speak, Jaycee pushes in the middle, shooting glares all around. “Where’s Barrett? Is he slinging?”
Preston and Gage exchange grins. “I told him those tight Wranglers would get him some play,” Gage snorts. Jaycee’s face tints different shades of red and pink. Like a bouquet… of evil.
“I did not say…” she starts as Preston steps between them.
“Barrett’s over there waiting.” He points across the field to the top of the hill where Barrett’s sitting on the roof of an old blue Bronco, his legs hanging down in front of the windshield.
“You’re driving, too?” I ask. Preston in a 4x4? No freaking way.
Gage grabs Preston from behind and smooches him on the cheek. “No, his pretty boy car can’t cut it out here. He’s riding bitch with me. Right, big brother?”
Preston wrenches from his grip, ducks low, and turns around, plowing right into Gage’s stomach. He stumbles backwards laughing and Gage bends, hands on his knees, struggling for breath.
I gasp and jump to the side.
“Relax.” Preston laughs and nudges my shoulder. “It’s all in fun.”
“Oh…” A heat circulates in my cheeks, partly from embarrassment and partly from the friendly pressure of his palm on my bare shoulder.
Gage horse-collars Preston from behind and begins dragging him toward the pit. “Yeah, Preston, don’t get bent out of shape. You know you’ll be the best bitch out there.”
Jaycee darts to my side, glowering after them. “Gage is an ass.”
“He’s a smartass. There’s a difference, and you’re just mad because he interfered with the whole ‘meet Preston’ scenario in your head. And he picked on you for crushing on Barrett.”
I try to link arms with her, but she nearly trips over her own feet, dodging my contact and flailing her arms in my face.
“Whatever it is, I hate it… and him.” She un-puckers her pout-lips into a wide grin, rubbing her hands together. “But I do like Preston. He’s awesome for your image.” She grabs my arms and holds them out to the sides, nose wrinkled, smile faded. “Now for God sakes, go clean yourself up. You still smell like crap.”
Chapter 4
Gage
“T
hanks for making me look like a total idiot,” Preston grumbles.
Here comes t
he drama, and all because I called him my bitch in front of Rayne. If I roll my eyes any harder, they’re sure to stick that way. The fact he’s even worrying about it is ridiculous. Mr. Popularity himself deemed an idiot? An impossible feat in this town where his proper place is on a big golden pedestal. Preston sets the standards around here with his All-American boy-next-door charm that he graciously hands out like candy. He could come out wearing his boxers on his head, and there’d be a rush on Fruit of the Loom at the local department store.
And then there’s his newest love interest in Rayne. The girl who stepped in a steaming pile of crap and forced Preston to get his hands dirty for once. I smile. I thought so before, but I’m even more positive now. She’s going to bring big changes his way.
It’s about time.
“I was just leveling the playing field. She was the one with cow patty stuck all between her toes.”
Preston laughs under his breath and side-eyes me. “That was pretty gross, right?”
He still reeks of it, and I’m pretty sure a couple specks of it splattered his cheek while he helped Rayne clean up. Three brown dots freckle the area under his right eye, but I’m not saying anything about it. It’s almost gratifying to see the non-perfect Preston.
“Yep, but terrific ammo you can use to tease her later.” This is the kind of leverage to hang over someone’s head for a long time.
Preston stares at me like I have worms crawling out my nose, his head and hands waving in rhythm. “No way! You never intentionally embarrass a girl. We’re going to forget that incident and never mention it again.”
“What? That’s a golden opportunity!” I give him a rough shove, and he stumbles forward a few steps. “Besides, Rayne seems tough. I think she can take it.”
“This,” Preston says, wagging his finger in my face, “is why you don’t date.”
He might be partially correct. My personality isn’t exactly in high demand with the female crowd, though I can’t discount the obvious disinterest parading around on my face 24/7 factors in as well. That’s probably a major deterrent to anyone crazy enough to give me a second look. Not that I care. My brain operates on two wavelengths—the Scout and football. There haven’t been many girls who’d even get close to making me think otherwise.
My mouth drops open as I slap both palms to my face. “You must be right. I’m just a jackass. Mystery solved.”
He taps his index finger on his temple as we walk toward the Scout, which is waiting on the hilltop, the first in a long line of 4x4s on the fringe of where the pasture grass meets the ruddy clay. A mix of country music and classic rock blares from their respective radios, punctuating the monotonous current of rumbling engines.
I sit on the hood, boots resting on the bumper, while Preston leans against the fender. The late afternoon sun casts golden arms out over the grass, the orange tint broken up by the long, thin shadows from the trucks.
I lay back, arms folded behind my head, and take a deep inhale, the cloud of exhaust and gasoline expanding in my lungs. I love that smell. Powerful. Strong. Mechanical. A warm breeze floats over me, sneaking in the armhole of my muscle T-shirt. Absolutely nothing could ruin—
“Hey, Preston. I finally found you.”
Except that.
I slit one eye, watching Ashlyn and her two cohorts saunter over to Preston. She flicks her fake blond hair over her shoulder and licks her lips. I hate how she stares at him with an open mouth, like she’s ready to take a bite or something else equally nasty.
What I hate more is how Preston stands up to greet her, like he’s actually happy to see her.
Idiot.
I sit up on the hood and shoot a quick glance over my shoulder. Rayne’s no longer on the sideline but heading off toward the main house, no doubt in search of that soap Preston alluded to. Good. Her seeing Ashlyn fawn over Preston would throw a monkey wrench in things from the very beginning. She doesn’t strike me as the type of girl eager to engage in petty drama, and it’s not like Preston will actually tell Ashlyn to scram. He thinks she’s harmless, innocent.
A small laugh escapes as I think of it. She rolls her eyes at me then reaches out, fingering the collar of his polo. “Where’ve you been? I was looking for you everywhere.”
I bet she was, like a bloodhound sniffing his trail. Before he can speak, I butt in. “He was talking to the new girl he’s dating. You should meet her. She’s sweet and smart and funny.”
The other two girls exchange glances, but Ashlyn smirks. “If you like her so much, why don’t you date her?” Her voice is sugar-coated foulness. Kind of like when people offer you sweet tea and you take a sip, only realizing it’s unsweetened with a spoonful of saccharin stirred in.
Her reaction is fake-covered-bitterness and pure validation of my suspicions. “I have to defer to my brother. He’s completely smitten already.” I squeeze Preston’s chin in my fingers, giving it a small shake.
Preston grabs either side of my kneecap, sinking his fingers into the pressure points. A searing pain slingshots up my leg as he stares at me with a maniacal grin. “I can speak for myself, Gage.”
Oh, Preston. Always the diplomat.
He releases his fingers, and the tingling begins to subside. That’s when I notice again the three brown dots on his cheek. “You have something on your face,” I say, tapping my skin in the coordinating area.
“Where?” He starts toward the side mirror, but Ashlyn reaches out and grabs his sleeve.
“Here. Let me,” she says in her honey tone and runs her finger through the muck, scooping it up into one pile.
“What is this? Chocolate?” She giggles and sweeps her finger up to her nose for a sniff. A grimace seizes her face, nose wrinkled and lips pinched.
“Um… that’s, um…” Preston stammers, blushing.
I jump off the hood and stand behind Preston, my hands on his shoulders. “What he’s trying to say is that’s cow crap.”
She screams and flails her arm in the air, the clump sailing sideways in the pasture grass. “Gross!” She turns and beelines for the main house, nearly tripping several times on her sandals, with the other two in tow.
Preston shakes his head. “You did that on purpose.”
“What? I got rid of the problem, didn’t I?” I shrug and point to the Scout. “Now get your butt in the passenger seat. Let’s show ‘em how it’s done!”
The last rays of sun sink below the horizon as I pull my mud-caked Scout by the bonfire, backing in to a slot near where Rayne stands, arms folded, searching the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd. I can only guess what she’s looking for. Or who. But he’s MIA at the moment. One minute we’d been cleaning the mud spatters from our clothes, the next minute he vanished without a word.
And I can only imagine with who. To be so smart, he’s completely oblivious.
I walk around, drop the tailgate and pull a couple camp chairs from the back, opening them up. Footsteps crunch the grass all around, but a snapping stick, close behind me, catches my attention.
I glance over just as Rayne taps me on the shoulder, one eyebrow cocked into her forehead. “Nice driving out there, but I could’ve done better.”
“You just love to argue with me, don’t you?” I turn around, hands on my hips. “Lucky for you, I love a challenge, and I might just give you an opportunity to prove it sometime.”
“You’re on.” She smirks and nods toward one of the chairs, silently asking me for a seat. I pick it up and set it in front of her, panning my hand in an open invitation and she sits down, propping her hands behind her head.
Smug. Confident. Naïve.
I grab another chair and pull it beside hers, but before I can sit down, Jaycee barrels toward us and yanks Rayne up by the arm, dragging her toward the fireside. She leans into her ear, mouth moving feverishly while she stabs her finger at something on the other side of the flames. It doesn’t take a body language expert to deduce something’s wrong.
I stand up
and ease closer to them, Jaycee’s shrill jabbering becoming actual words within earshot.
She furrows her brows and hisses, “You better handle that. Fake nails, hair extensions, and legs longer than your entire body? She’s everything you’re not. Everything he usually wants.”
The orange flames spiral against the dark sky, and I stoop lower for a better look, focusing in on exactly what’s causing the stir. Preston, standing in a mixed group with a tall, leggy blonde who’s leaned into his shoulder and rubbing circles on his back.
Ashlyn.
Rayne’s face falls, her smile replaced by thin, drawn lips. “How can I compete with that Legs-a-lot chick?” She steps sideways, reaching for her chair, and sinks into it. Jaycee whirls around, her eyes flaming as they land on mine for the briefest moment, before she shoves past me, barking orders at Rayne.
“Get up! Get over there and do something.”
Rayne doesn’t make a move to get up, only shakes her head then rests it on the back of her chair, clamping her eyes shut. “I want to go home,” she mumbles.
Fuming, Jaycee retreats to her own chair halfway around the circle and flounces into it, pouting with lips rolled out a mile. I slip my phone from my pocket.
I walk to my Scout and sit on the tailgate, waiting—watching. On the opposite side, Preston grabs Barrett’s arm and pulls him away from the crowd. Ashlyn protests, but he ignores her. When they pass Jaycee’s chair, a huge grin spreads across her face—one that grows even wider when Barrett breaks away and slides into the seat next to hers.
Oh well. At least Preston’s getting his act together. Barrett will have to deal with his own bad decisions.
Preston pats me on the shoulder then kneels down by Rayne’s chair.
Meant to Be Broken Page 3