Justin covers the receiver with his free hand and holds it in the air to get my attention.
“They’re asking if someone’s coming to get you or not,” he says.
I stand up straight, smooth my hands over the front of my pencil skirt, and pull down the hem of my blazer that’s buttoned up all the way to hide my torn-open blouse.
This day can’t get much worse, so I might as well have a little fun with it. I nod sharply.
“Fine. I’ll call him.”
2
WARREN
Nights like this don’t happen as often as they used to. Not too long ago, they were a common occurrence at the ranch. We had a routine and it suited us all just fine. It did me, at least.
We grilled food and hung out at the bunkhouse after a long day’s work nearly every night. The times that we weren’t hosting a party or out at the bar, that is.
Lately, though, I’ve had to split my time between here and my new business. It opens in a few months and I’m up to my eyeballs in preparations. Bills and to-do lists demand my attention from my already-cluttered desk, but I haven’t had the heart or the cash flow to leave my job here at the ranch just yet.
Gage was the first to shake things up around here by getting engaged to my sister, Blythe, and moving out to the big house across the property with her. He’s still on the ranch every day, seeing as how he owns the place, but it’s just Tripp, Heston, and myself living in the bunkhouse now.
Tripp has taken on most of my responsibilities while I’m not able to be here. And he’s more preoccupied with adding notches to his bedpost than he’s ever been.
Heston seems more distant lately, too. Taking off to who knows where at any given time. We know better than to ask him questions or dig into that.
It used to be the four of us guys, living on the edge like a rowdy bunch of young bachelors.
Things have changed so quickly. It’s not all for the worse, but it’s out of the norm just the same. Change has never been comfortable for me and I’m still getting used to it.
The fact that we’re all here together on the same night means I should be enjoying myself and spending time with my sister and friends inside right now. Instead, I’m in the mood for some silent brooding on the patio out back.
Above the summer breeze and a few cicadas, laughter and music can easily be heard from the house behind me. It’s a comforting background noise until the guilt sets in that I’m not up for a night of drinking and conversing like I don’t have a care in the world. I’ve never been good at faking emotions, I guess.
My thumb runs along the side of the water bottle resting on my knee. There’s condensation pooling in the ridges of the plastic and for a short minute, I fixate on the pad of my finger in contact with the cool drops of liquid.
I’ve been doing that a lot recently. Zoning out. Trying not to think about all the risks and different ways my lofty business venture could go wrong. Or about the girl who’s taken up permanent residence in my brain since the moment I met her.
Savannah Chase. Her name drifts through my thoughts on a regular basis. That and the look on her face when I asked her if she’d go out with me when we met that night three weeks ago. I couldn’t think of anything more beautiful if I tried.
The one that got awayisn’t a fair way to describe her. I never had her to begin with. Somehow, I managed to accidentally fuck things up with her a week later before our first date had even ended.
And my brain keeps warning me that I could do the same with my business before it has a chance to get off the ground too.
Interrupting my failed attempt at pushing away all the overwhelming thoughts swirling around in my head, the back door to the bunkhouse creaks open. Without turning, I know that it’s Heston.
If the lack of greeting wasn’t a dead giveaway, the stealthy footsteps were.
I lean my head against the back of the chair while he takes the seat next to mine. I’m not surprised that he’s joined me. It’s not uncommon to find him out here alone at night. He prefers the quiet. What shocks me is that he strikes up a conversation.
“Private pity party?” he asks in his typical low-pitched voice.
I tear a piece of the label away from the plastic bottle in my hand and nod. In my peripheral vision, he brings a can of beer to his lips for a drink and then spreads his legs to get more comfortable. He isn’t one for small talk, so I wait for him to reveal what’s on his mind. Long beats of silence are expected with him.
“Emma stopped me in town today,” he finally says.
I wince but eventually right my expression. Emma is my ex-girlfriend. We dated for a short period of time during which she became a little overly obsessed. Not only that, but she had a very unattractive infatuation with nose candy. I broke things off knowing I didn't feel the same about her as she did about me.
“Oh yeah? She doing good?”
