“Yes?” I answer back in a slightly shaky voice.
“Don’t make me beg.”
NowthatI could potentially get on board with. I scrub the already gleaming sink even harder than before with the image in my head of Warren on his knees.
“I have more important things to worry about right now than messing around with fuckboys,” I quip back. And it’s the truth. The last thing I need right now is to let Warren toss me around for fun. My job is on the line and I need to come up with a plan to save it.
I’ve messed up too many times in the past. If I got fired from the law firm, not only would my brother and parents blow a gasket and ridicule me more than they already do, but I also have no other job prospects lined up and nowhere else to go. Ihaveto make this work.
His huff comes through the phone and I smirk, hoping he took offense to me calling him out.
“I know you want to believe that I am, but I’m not a fuckboy. I just want to get to know you better, Savvy. Hang out with me.”
Hesoundssincere. But the most well-crafted acts are always convincing. I bet he’s said this a million times before to a million other girls. He’s got it down to an art.
“What’s the point?” I ask. Because really, what’s his angle here? It was obvious on our date that he never truly liked me in the first place. It was all a game to him. My face turns red just thinking about it. I’m not sure if it’s anger or embarrassment or both, but either way, I’m not putting myself in that position again.
“The point is I want to talk to you. Just give me a chance.”
I let out a sigh and stop what I’m doing for a moment to stare at the phone. During our meeting last week, Mariana gave me another chance. And as many times as I’ve screwed up in life, I’ve always had the opportunity to try again. Maybe it’s unreasonable for me not to hear him out. Since I’m trying to turn over a new leaf with my job, I could take a stab at lowering my skepticism when it comes to friendships and relationships too.
Historically, those things have always been represented by a dark cloud of sadness for me. I could be setting myself up for more disappointment, but it might turn out differently this time.
“Alright, fine. I’ll hang out with you, you stubborn mule.”
It’s silent for a second and even though I can’t see him, I think he might be doing a quick happy dance because there’s a smile in his voice when he finally replies.
“Hell yeah. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
“I got my keys from my purse that was left at the courthouse, so you don’t need to pick me up. Just send me a pin. What are we going to be doing?” I try not to sound too eager, but his excitement is unavoidably contagious.
“Party at the bunkhouse.”
By the fourth turn on a dirt road, I’m starting to regret agreeing to come tothe bunkhouse, whatever the hell that is. If this is some sort of creepy underground sex club in a big room full of crusty old bunk beds I swear I will punch Warren square in the face.
I’m trying to pay attention to the road so I don’t crash, but my attention is split between straight ahead and the maps app on my phone that keeps glitching because I lose more service thefarther I get from town. It’d be just my luck to get lost in the country with no bars.
Thankfully, the voice from the phone finally tells me that my destination is on the left. I drive through open iron gates sitting underneath a massive sign that reads “Prairie Rose Ranch.” The fences on either side of the long driveway aren’t painted, having a more natural and rustic look to them. I pass several groups of cows grazing on grass. The subtle rolling hills and wide open spaces are stunning in a way that I never thought I’d appreciate, growing up in a concrete jungle like I did.
Since it’s a nice evening, I roll my window down and let the night air blow in around me as I drive slowly toward the ranch up ahead. The closer I get, the more I wonder where the hell I’m going to park. There are lines of trucks and cars just outside of a large pole barn style building that I’m guessing is where the party’s at.
Luckily a lifted red Jeep pulls out of a spot near the front and passes me down the drive, so I swoop in. Now time to sit in the car and decide whether or not I’m even going to go in. It sucks feeling anxious. I never thought there would be this many people here and I wish I could have prepared myself a little better. What really causes me to flake on stuff like this is the thought of people talking to me and not liking what they hear.
I already know my reputation in this town is tarnished with the local news segment about my arrest. It wouldn’t surprise me if everyone I met here turned their nose up and wasn’t a fan of anything I had to say. It’s so much easier to stay home and avoid that possibility, and the possibility of everyone not being my fan once they get to know me.
I think back to the courage it took for me to agree to dinner with Warren when we met at the fundraiser in town. The fact that I agreed to go on a date with him at all when he asked was incredibly rare for me.
Now, here I am stepping out of my comfort zone again just to hang out with him. I blame it on the thick wavy hair curling around the nape of his neck and that damn dimple in his cheek.
Tap Tap
A hand flies to my chest and I whip my head toward the driver’s side window where someone just knocked. My mouth drops open when I see her, decked out in cut-off shorts and a faded black crop top with a rooster on it that says “Turnpike Troubadours.” Her long dark blonde hair falls in soft waves almost to her waist and she pushes it over one shoulder while smiling at me. I can’t stop staring at her perfect teeth and she looks like she belongs on the cover of a magazine rather than in the middle of a red dirt parking lot.
While the window rolls down, she quickly pulls out her phone and types on it, then looks back at me.
“Hi! Savannah?”
I nod nervously.
