Tripped Out: A Blacktop Cowboys® Novella

by Lorelei James

  “The next syllable had better be ing…not chat,” he warned.

  “What do you have against Snapchat?”

  “Nothing. As long as I don’t have to use it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “How old are you?”

  “Old enough to say no to pointless endeavors.”

  “Fine. I’ll text you.”

  * * * *

  By “text” Stirling had meant carrying on entire conversations. Bizarre discussions, which should’ve been no surprise to him.

  Thursday night’s texts began with them sending each other funny memes.

  Then they shared links to strange scientific discoveries.

  That led to snippets of their favorite songs, to discussion of overrated movies, to images of places they’d been and places they’d hoped to go, to food and sports.

  The last image she’d sent was a selfie of her in bed, making duck lips.

  ME: This is not a come-on, but what are you wearing?

  SG: Pajamas, perv.

  ME: Seriously, what are those things on your bottoms?

  SG: Excuse me?

  ME: Your pajama bottoms have cartoons on them?

  SG: Not cartoons, animated characters.

  ME: Aka—cartoons.

  SG: No, the animated character on these is Mulan from the movie Mulan and her pet dragon.

  ME: Why do you have them?

  SG: Because they’re comfy.

  ME: Stirling. Seriously. That is not a legitimate answer.

  SG: Why, Dr. Freud… Are you attempting to psychoanalyze my pajama selection? Like it was a happy time in my childhood and I’m trying to find a connection to that happy child as an adult?

  ME: You give me far too much credit. I never think that deep on a personal level. Sorry. Where did you get them?

  SG: Why? Do you want a pair?

  ME: Hilarious. So an old boyfriend gave them to you?

  SG: NO! There is no special significance. I got them on sale at the mall, okay? In fact, I have three other pairs of pajama pants with animated characters on them. Belle, from Beauty and the Beast, and Winnie the Pooh and Woody from Toy Story. Satisfied?

  ME: Yes, but those are some crazy pants.

  SG: LOL.

  ME: That would be a great nickname for you. Crazy pants. It fits on so many levels.

  SG: DON’T YOU DARE CALL ME CRAZY PANTS.

  ME: I won’t. At least not to your face…

  SG: LIAM

  ME: Kidding. I can’t wait to peel those crazy pants off you, hot stuff. Is that better?

  SG: Much. Kissy faces to you.

  ME: Get some sleep.

  Liam had toiled a full day on Friday, wondering if he ought to back out of attending Stirling’s sister’s party since he’d fallen behind. But Stirling would be upset if he bailed on her, so he’d suck it up and go because she acted like she needed him.

  His cell phone buzzed with a text message. He pulled it out of his lab coat pocket and removed his silicone glove.

  SG: Let’s pretend we just met through an online dating service.

  ME: Why?

  SG: Because I have questions, dumbass. And I didn’t think you’d want to spend our rare face-to-face time together filling out an “Are you compatible?” questionnaire.

  ME: I’m with Artie in stage-two grow. There might be a lag time between answers.

  SG: LIAR. You’re in your lab. I should know because I’m closing the store with Jumanji.

  ME: Wrong. I was in the lab. I’ve been out back for two hours.

  SG: Whatev. This is how it’ll work. I’ll type in the question. Then we’ll both have thirty seconds to answer.

  ME: Got it.

  SG: Q1 – Growing up did you have a pet? If yes, what?

  ME: No

  SG: That wasn’t 30 seconds Dr. Cheater!

  ME: Fastest answer always wins.

  SG: Not in this case. Competitive much?

  Liam chuckled. “You have no idea.”

  Artie stopped checking the flow numbers on the drip system. “Sorry?”

  “Nothing. I was just…” Like a dumbass he pointed to his phone.

  “Sexting with Stirling?” Artie supplied with a grin.

  Don’t fucking blush. “What makes you think that?”

  “You’re walking around smiling despite the fact we’re working sixteen-hour days and stage-one grow ended up a total loss.”

  “And?”

  “And no pranks this week from either of you.”

  “Maybe because we’ve both been busy working sixteen-hour days?”

  “Or maybe because you’ve been too busy kissing boss lady in the break room,” Artie said and puckered his lips, smacking out kissing noises.

  Never mind the fact Liam blushed as red as the Scarlet Fever buds, what the fuck was wrong with Artie? A grown man—a grandfather, for Chrissake—making kissing noises?

  “Don’t deny it. Lexa saw you two earlier today. She’s a gossip hound.”

  “Everyone knows?”

  He shrugged. “Everyone who worked today. For what it’s worth… I think it’s great you two are bouncing the bedsprings. Love is what makes life worth living, man.”

  “Yesterday you said weed makes life worth living,” Liam pointed out.

  Artie just grinned. “Keep sexting with your lady. I got this.”

  Jesus.

  ME: The jig is up

  SG: …the news is out…

  Liam laughed again. For fuck’s sake. He’d fallen right into that one.

  ME: …they finally found us. Yes, I’m talking about our employees discovering that—

  SG: You and I aren’t currently fucking? Not news, L. In fact, it’s OLD news.

  ME: I’m serious. Lexa saw us in the break room today. See if she put a note up on the employee bulletin board because according to Artie, everybody knows.

  He watched that “…” for what seemed like forever.

  SG: Motherfuck! Jumanji knows about us. He just asked if I wanted to take home a bottle of Foria sensual cannabis oil. Fair warning: I will smoke cannabis and ingest it, but I WILL NOT RUB IT ON MY VAGINA. My vagina doesn’t need to relax. My vagina needs to be on edge, tight with anticipation, quivering…

  Liam groaned and clicked off his screen. A man could only stand so much.

  Artie said, “That good, huh?”

  Do not explain to Artie that Stirling is not sending you pictures of her quivering vagina.

  “Look, Artie—”

  Liam’s phone buzzed in his hand.

  “Better get that,” Artie said with a wink.

  SG: Are you ignoring me?

  ME: Yes. No more conversations about quivering body parts. I mean it.

  SG: Great! We can finish our compatibility quiz.

  ME: Why? What’s the point?

  When the “…” stayed on his screen for far longer than a normal message took to type, he braced himself.

  SG: What’s the POINT? The point is we need to get to know each other. Because we are not IN A REAL RELATIONSHIP until you know a few things about me and I know more about you. Personal things. Stupid things. Funny things. Sexy things. NORMAL things that a man and a woman who have worked together for TEN MONTHS should know about each other, and we don’t.

  ME: Is this about us going to see your family tomorrow?

  Shit. More of the “…” and somehow he knew he’d screwed up.

  SG: Liam…honey…baby…sweetie… Do you want to have sex with me?

  He was so fucked. He’d better make this answer world class. He’d even use a fucking emoji if he had to.

  ME: More than I want to take my next breath.

  Please answer fast he said to the “…” on the screen.

  SG: THEN YOU WILL TAKE THIS MOTHERFUCKING QUIZ TO THE BITTER FUCKING END AND YOU WILL TELL ME SHIT ABOUT YOURSELF AND YOU WILL ACT GODDAMNED HAPPY TO LEARN SHIT ABOUT ME. YOU DO NOT GET TO BITCH ABOUT IT ONE SINGLE BIT BECAUSE I DID THE FIVE THINGS FOR YOU TEST. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? OR ARE YOU PERPETU
ALLY GOING TO BE DR. NEVER-GONNA-GET-LAID?

  “Fine, crazy pants. You didn’t have to yell,” he muttered.

  “Bet you don’t call her that to her face,” Artie said.

  “You’re right, because I like my balls where they are.”

  ME: Where were we in the quiz? I answered that I didn’t have a pet. What was your answer?

  SG: I grew up on a ranch so I had dogs, cats, horses. Once I even had a pet pig.

  ME: Please tell me you named it MACON BACON

  SG: LOL

  As reluctant as Liam was to admit it, at the end of the two-hour quiz, Stirling had been right. They’d needed to learn the basic dating stuff about each other—not when they were high or working together.

  ME: See you tomorrow afternoon. Feel free to bring your crazy pants to sleep in.

  SG: Maybe I won’t sleep in anything at all.

  ME: Even better. Then neither of us will get any sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What’s the story we’re telling your family?” Liam asked her.

  Stirling floored it to get onto the freeway, holding her response until she’d merged into the traffic leaving Denver. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “That’s not like you.”

  “We’ve been a wee bit busy this week at High Society. Besides, I knew we’d have time to kill on the way to the GFR&R.”

  “Is that Western lingo I should be familiar with?”

  “Shorthand for Gradsky Family Ranch and Rodeo.” Reaching over, she squeezed his thigh. “Relax. I have enough nervous energy for both of us.”

  Liam threaded his fingers through hers.

  His quiet support humbled her, reinforcing her gratitude that he’d agreed to accompany her this weekend.

  “What’s the most troubling aspect of this family party for you?”

  “Other than the fact that neither my mom nor dad clued me in about this party? But Macon knew? London is my only sister. I should’ve been involved in some aspect of planning a party for her.”

  “You get along with your parents?”

  “I thought I did.”

  He aimed his gaze out the window and didn’t answer.

  “Hey.” Stirling snapped her fingers. “Eyes back over here. You don’t get to pretend you’re suddenly interested in the scenery.”

  “I’m attempting to get a grasp on the Gradsky family dynamic before I’m thrust into it.”

  “You make it sound like there’ll be bare-knuckle brawling. I assure you that won’t happen.”

  A feigned expression of alarm crossed his face. “I agreed to come on the condition of witnessing family fisticuffs. If that’s not a possibility, please turn around and take me back to Denver.”

  She laughed. “Who even uses the word ‘fisticuffs’ anymore?”

  “I did.” Liam kissed her hand. “To bring a smile to your face.”

  His sweetness was still a shock to her. “Thank you.”

  “Stirling, what’s going on?”

  “Blunt truth? It bothers me that my parents haven’t come to see me in Denver since they moved closer to me. The rodeo school—”

  “GFR&R,” he interjected.

  “You’re catching on, boy. We’ll getcha talkin’ cowboy in no time.”

  “Pass. Back to the blunt truth, darlin’.”

  “I know firsthand how hard it is to run a business and how crucial that first year is. But I came home twice during the holidays. Phone calls, texts, all that…so sporadic it doesn’t count. I take some comfort in the fact they’ve been out of touch with Macon as much as me.” A scowl twisted her mouth. “But I can guarantee they haven’t been out of touch with London or their grandson Brennen.”

  Childish much?

  “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. London works at the ranch. Part of me fears that my parents make up excuses not to see me because whatever pride they had in me vanished when I lost my corporate job and jumped into the cannabis business,” she said in a rush. She’d never admitted that to anyone.

  “Let’s assume for a moment there’s some truth to that. Would your parents have lost pride in Macon, too?”

  Stirling shook her head. “Macon is an attorney. The cannabis business is a side gig for him. If it fails, all he’s out is money. He’ll just don one of his hideous three-piece suits and go to his office. I, however…”

  “Are a brilliant woman with a master’s degree, and racked up years of experience as an agriculture conglomerate executive.” Liam brought their joined hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “If it comes down to that, Stirling, I have every confidence you’ll land on your feet.”

  She blushed, almost blurting out she hadn’t been fishing for compliments.

  “I can’t imagine your parents aren’t proud of your ganjapreneurial endeavors.” He grinned when she laughed at his terminology. “Especially since they’re farmers themselves.”

  “They grow hay, alfalfa, and corn. Normal farmer crops.”

  Stirling felt him studying her and said “What?” without taking her eyes off the road.

  “Is that why you’re insistent on starting an organic farm? Because it’s considered more normal—in their eyes—than growing cannabis?”

  Liam’s perceptiveness startled her.

  “Partially. Running an organic farm appealed to me because I could make it my own niche by focusing on supplying to farm-to-table restaurants. I had a romanticized vision of harvesting the exact same variety of beans, tomatoes, squash, and potatoes that my great-great grandparents did. I wanted to feel connected.”

  “And since your acreage is close to your parents’, you’d be part of the same community; hence, they’d see you as an extension of themselves and show parental pride.”

  “It’s not their pride I wanted as much as that family connection. The truth…” God. Did she even want to tell him this? Would he look at her differently?

  Liam kissed her hand again. “No judgment, remember?”

  “The truth is I’ve been a shitty, self-centered daughter, singularly focused on me and my goals since I left for college. I rarely came home. Same story when I started grad school. Too busy making my own way. Then when I landed the job at GenAgra, as a big-time executive I had responsibilities they couldn’t comprehend. Again, I hardly ever came home. My mom and dad both stopped calling me, because every time they called, I told them it wasn’t a good time and I’d have to call them back.”

  “Did you call them back?”

  “A week or two later, when I remembered.” Guilt weighed on her whenever she recalled that time in her life. “So weeks stretched into months between phone calls. I had no idea the level of expansion Grade A Farms underwent. When I found out…” Her face heated and she choked back a bitter laugh. “I had the audacity to demand why no one had told me.”

  “Stirling.”

  She shook her head. Don’t be sweet and supportive right now because I don’t deserve it. “I’d like to brag that I had an epiphany and changed my self-serving ways, but it didn’t happen. My job became unbearable. Then when the Nick fiasco occurred, what was the first thing I did? Ran home to my mother. And because she’s such an amazing person, she let me cry on her shoulder and complain about my life. The last time I had done that I was a bratty sixteen-year-old. She gave me one piece of advice: find who you were meant to be. I ran with it and I haven’t looked back.”

  “Except for now.”

  “Yes. It sucks to admit this, but I’ve been out of touch with my parents the last year. Old habits die hard, right? Anyway, I shouldn’t be whining because they’re throwing a party for London. I love my sister and I’d always hoped as we got older that we could find that bond we had when we were kids.” Stirling flashed him a quick smile. “That was the super-long, super-psychoanalytical answer to your question about why I decided organic farming would be the best idea evah. I based a monetary investment on a career path that my emotions chose, not my brain.”

  He lifted his shoulder in a half s
hrug. “It happens.”

  “Has it happened to you?”

  His non-answer was telling.

  “So as if the universe wanted to reiterate that point, after the mess with the infestation, it hit me that as an organic farmer, I’d be dealing with plant diseases, bugs, and Mother Nature on a much larger scale. Two hundred acres of uncertainty. Do I really want that to be my life?” She shot him a sideways glance. “Why can’t I just admit I’m happy being fully invested—financially and emotionally—in High Society? Even if the failure of it rests heavier on me than on my brother.”

  “Then conversely, the success is yours to celebrate too.” He chuckled. “I do have an optimistic side. Who knew?”

  There are more sides to you than I ever imagined.

  “Sorry for veering onto that tangent. I’m sure you don’t want to spend this time hearing about my neuroses.”

  “I could tell you that your neuroses are unfounded…but that’s the rub, isn’t it?”

  She muttered, “I wouldn’t believe you.”

  “Exactly.” His fingers squeezed hers. “So will you make amends with your parents?”

  “Not at a party for my sister.” She sighed. “Who am I kidding? I’ll probably chicken out and say nothing.”

  “If it plays out that way, don’t beat yourself up.”

  “Because we agreed lamenting lost opportunities is pointless.”

  “Only regarding sex,” he said in a huskier tone. “Speaking of…”

  Her belly swooped. “Yes?”