Page 42 of Untamed
“Like what?” His expression is suddenly livid as if that one remark sets him off. His eyes search mine, the piercing blue depths of his meeting sea green. They collide like waves crashing against a rocky shore.
“Bethisway.” My eyes dip to his chest, so tense his muscles seem tight and rigid underneath his dusty black T-shirt.
“What way? This is me.” He backs away about a step, dropping his hands to his side. “You’re the one fooling yourself.”
I blink at his harshness. “You’re an asshole.”
He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at me. He’s mocking me. “It’s not a way. It’s me. I am an asshole. Took you long enough to figure it out. Most women figure it out the first night.” When I take another step back, he knows I’m pissed with the words he’s saying, but he doesn’t stop; he’s going for the full eight seconds, the entire ride of destroying me. “I can’t be anything you’re hoping I will be. It’d be a goddamn disaster.”
I swallow over my irritation. I don’t know how to reply to that other than I want him to see it has nothing to do with me wanting him. Or at least I’m telling myself that for now. I couldn’t tell you what I want from him anymore. It started out as one thing and now . . . it’s not that.
He brushes past me without another word.
After a few minutes, Grayer returns with a stack of barn boards. He notices I’m still there, leaning against the horse stables.
“What do you want from me, Maesyn? Am I just another way to piss off your daddy?”
“No.” You can’t miss the sadness in my tone, but it also doesn’t stop him.
“Then what it is?” When I don’t answer, he cocks an eyebrow at me. “Does your daddy know about Joel?” There’s a little more to his words than he’s leading on, as if he knows the answer to that. “Does he know about me?”
I shake my head because my dad doesn’t know shit. And he never will.
“Does he know you’re lying to him?”
I won’t give him an answer and I think it pisses him off.
“That’s what I thought.” He laughs with a nod and then leans down to pick up one of the boards. Tossing it over his shoulder, he waits for a second, giving me another chance to convince him otherwise. I don’t. I’m not sure what to say.
His eyes are bloodshot, watching and waiting for me to say something. I see through him. He’s the kind of guy who rolls into town, gets what he wants, maybe fights for my honor, but there is still a part of Grayer that willalwaysbe that rebel kid.
With our eyes locked on one another, he nods as if to let me know my assumptions are right.
“What am I to you then?” I finally challenge. “If you say you don’t want anything to do with me, why are you roughing up Joel and trying to make me walk the straight and narrow? Why go to that much trouble if you’re leaving town in a few days?”
His eyes close and he sighs. “Maybe you’re someone I can’t fucking resist. Someone I have no right to want,” he says, walking away.
But he can and he is avoiding me. I despise what he’s doing to me, making me crave his harsh words and southern drawl, specs of blue diamonds that shine so bright. Because of him, I find myself staring at the stars every night just to remember the way his eyes give me a sense of hope. He demands my attention in ways he doesn’t even realize.
I follow him, refusing to let it go. He walks outside the barn and into the field where Mac is now. As if Grayer can’t stand the dirt, he kicks at it, then the hay. After a moment, he reaches down for his tool bag he left out last night and then walks back into the barn.
“What is it about you?” He throws a saddle to his left out of the way and reaches for the boards. He takes a box of nails and carries them over to the wall he’s repairing. “Didn’t your daddy tell you to stay away from me?”
I blink, leaning against the stable and crossing my feet. “He did.”
“You don’t usually listen, do you?”
“Not really.”
Grayer rolls his eyes, muttering something I can’t hear. Sighing, I leave him be for the time being. I have chores to do so he’s going to have to deal with me today.
Morgan walks by me, smiling, holding a plate with a turkey sandwich on it, and a glass of limeade. Despite nearing tears, I wink down at her.
“Hey, sissy.” She looks up at me, pretty green eyes, and freckled sunburnt cheeks. “You want me to bring you a sandwich too?”
“No, thanks.”
She disappears inside with the food and I hope he’s nicer to her than me. I watch. Just to be sure. He smiles like a fool when he sees her holding food, but as I discovered last night, food is the way to his heart. I guess I should have brought him something before walking in there.
