She takes it like I just handed her a live snake. “This is a crime against humanity. What’s next? You’re going to tell me there aren’t any Erewhons in Tennessee? Where else am I going to buy my twenty-dollar strawberry?”
A twenty-dollar strawberry? Is she mental?
“I don’t know what the fuck that is, but we have Piggly Wiggly here and they sell packs of fucking strawberries not a singular one.”
She looks at me in pure horror, clutching her necklace like the world is about to end.
My shoulder leans against the stall as I adjust my elbow on the open gate and watch her in her ridiculous heels as she inches toward the pile of manure like it might attack her.
She pokes it with the shovel, her face twisted in disgust.
“Catalina, it isn’t going to explode.”
“Yeah, okay,” she mutters, gagging again.
Carefully, she scoops up a pile, holding it as far away from her body as possible.
I nod toward the wheelbarrow. “Toss it.”
She hesitates. “What if it, like…. Splatters?”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Just fucking toss it, we have other chores to do today.”
She flings it a little too aggressively, and a piece splatters along her cheek. Her eyes go wide, and she begins to dry heave and scream at the same time.
“Oh.My.God!!!” she squeals, dropping the shovel.
“Welcome to ranch life, princess,” I say, nodding to the smear of horse shit on her cheek. “Suits you.”
“I fucking hate this place!” she snaps, glaring daggers at me.
I put my hand against my mouth, stifling a laugh creeping up my throat. She looks absolutely ridiculous in her heels with horse shit on her cheek.
“Well, princess, you’ve got six months. Might want to pace yourself.”
She groans dramatically, dropping her head back. “I’m going to have nightmares about this.”
I shake my head, turning away, and leave her there to suffer. Maybe by the end of this, she’ll learn something. Or maybe she’ll learn not to piss me off before sunrise.
I wipea layer of sweat from my forehead, glancing over at Catalina, who looks about three seconds away from a full-body collapse. Her hair, which started as a perfect, effortless ponytail, is now a mess of loose strands sticking to her flushed face.
Her heels are thrown in the barn somewhere, her sweatshirt is long gone, tossed over a stall hours ago, leaving her in a thin black, bedazzled tank top that says “fuck it”, clinging to her perfect curves. Her tits are practically spilling out of her tank, beads of sweat sliding down the curve of her chest, making it impossible to look anywhere else.
My muscles lock up, my cock’s hard against the rough denim of my jeans. I shift, adjusting myself under the bullshit excuse of getting comfortable, praying she doesn’t catch me.
Seriously? What the fuck is wrong with me.
I’m taken out of my gaze as she clears her throat, leaning against the fence.
“Take a picture, it’ll fucking last longer,” she snarks.
I grunt under my breath, dragging my gaze back to the pen. I don’t give a fuck she caught me eye-fucking her.
“Anyways,” she scoffs, kicking at the hay. “Since you’re done mentally undressing me... I’m officially over this shit.”
I keep shoveling fresh hay into the pen. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. You still have an hour left, and Toffee needs some love.”
She lets out a sound, somewhere between a dramatic whimper and a dying animal.
