Page 22 of Untamed
Located behind the arena's bucking chutes are the back pens, a maze of steel panels that serve as a holding and loading area for the bulls that await competition.
Haylee and I don’t stay at the river long. There’s a party out at Joel’s house tonight we’re heading to later and I want to shower again and wash the smell of suntan lotion and river from my skin. I don’t wanna go, but there’s nothing better to do in this town and after my dad ratting me out, I don’t want to stay home in fear I might tell my dad exactly what I think of him.
Grayer’s truck is still in the driveway when we get back. Haylee grins. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Meet me by the road. I’m washing my truck and I don’t wanna get it dirty.”
Haylee eyes the barn and my rusted Lincoln Continental painted—and I say that loosely—primer black parked next to it. It’s covered with a thick layer of dirt and grass growing up over the wheels. It’s been untouched by anyone in the last four years. The car was given to me as a gift, from Jamie when he died, but I don’t want it and will probably never want it. Why would I want the car he died in? His mom gave it to me and I think it was some kind of sick joke if you ask me. His fucking blood is still on the dashboard.
Who knows if it even runs anymore. I never plan on finding out. Someday I might even burn it to the ground.
When we’re out of Haylee’s truck, Morgan darts inside where Mom and Dad are. I sneak through the cornfield and into the barn hoping Grayer’s in there.
He is.
Barefoot and nervous, my heart thuds loudly in my ears, visions of last night come to mind. All pleasant ones.
His back is to me, no shirt, shoveling hay. The sun filtering through the cracks in the wood illuminates every muscle on his body. And guess what, he has tattoos. I hadn’t noticed them last night. There’s a couple on his arms and one across his chest, although I’m not entirely sure what they say just yet. I fully intend to explore them.
He notices me, his body visibly tenses.
“What are you doing in here?” He’s not looking up, and I think he’s trying really hard not to. “And where the fuck are your shoes? There’s shit all over here you could cut your feet on.”
I’m touched he’s concerned, but I need to get this off my chest. “I’m looking for you,” I say, strutting toward him. Still wearing my halter dress and bikini under it, I’m pretty tempted to strip to get his attention.
I’ve resorted to less before.
He turns away from me. “You shouldn’t be in here.” He’s sweating, muscles rigid and defined in every aspect, that hat, those jeans hanging low . . . damn. I’m immediately reminded of the way he rode that bull in the video and that nod . . .God!
“I came to see you and apologize,” I admit, my heart skipping into a steady fast rhythm.
He digs the fork into the hay. “Telling the truth would have been easier.”
Apparently more confident than ever before, I step forward and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “I know,” I whisper into his neck, my hands on his bare skin. He smells like sweat and man and so delicious. I want to lick the sweat beads from his neck, as gross as that sounds. “But last night was worth it.”
He isn’t having it and pushes himself away from me, creating distance between us, my hands falling away. “Youliedto me.”
“Is it really that big a deal?” I cross my arms, arching an eyebrow at him. “I turn eighteen in a few days.”
His eyes rake over my body, and then land on mine again. “I’m twenty-one. You’re seventeen. So yeah, it’s a big deal . . . and illegal.”
I read his biography in detail on the PBR website. He turned twenty-one a month ago. “You’re barely twenty-one,” I point out, thinking it’ll make a difference. My heart splutters and takes a nose dive when I realize I’m probably pissing him off even more. But I can’t stop myself. “And I’ll be eighteen in a few days. Our age shouldn’t matter.” I’m trying to justify my reasoning last night, though something in his eyes tells me it doesn’t matter.
Oh shit, there’s that glare again.
“You fuckin’ lied to me,” Grayer repeats, lifting his chin, his eyebrows knitting together, scowling at me. A small grin curls his lips and I’m reminded of the arrogant side of him. “And, yes, it should and it does in the eyes of the law. Itmattersa lot.” I can hear the edge of anger in his voice as he arches his eyebrow, waiting to see what I’ll say next.
“So would it have really mattered if I told you my age last night?” I taunt.Oh Jesus, Maesyn, shut up. Don’t ruin what little chance you have here.
He laughs. It’s a hollow derisive sound that reminds me of Joel. “I wouldn’t have let you come within twenty feet of me, and we certainly wouldn’t have done that.” His eyes drift south.
“You’re lying.” He knows he is. He was drunk last night, maybe not drunk enough to allow me to do that, but I think maybe just enough that he’d make an exception.
We stand facing one another, our breaths heavy, mingled with the comforting smell of the bales of hay when he looks at me. He scratches his head, a bemused expression on his face. “I came to pay off a debt for my dad. That’s all this should be and that’s all this is going to be.” He’s walking away from me, his dirt-clad boots mimicking the steady thump of my heart.
“That’s what you think, Eight Seconds,” I say under my breath.
