Page 25 of Storm Warning
“Ah yes, the famous Southern Sip. I fuckin’ love coffee,” I impulsively utter the response, regretting how stupid it sounds.
“Youloveeverything, Rhett.” I can’t tell if her tone is accompanied with cruelty, or if there might be a gentle jokeinvolved. I choose to go with the latter, because Ma didn’t raise a pessimist.
Funny enough, she’s probably right. I love a whole lot of things in my life because I love life itself. Or, at least, I did until life came crashing down on me. One thing I don’t love though, is a liar.
“Now that ain’t true, I mostly just love coffee, rodeos, and my Ma.”
“What an odd combination.” Her expression is soft again. “The part about your mom is sweet though, if you mean it.”
If I mean it?Damn, she must really have her expectations low for people.
“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean—?” I try to find answers in her pessimism, only to be cut off.
“Fucking great,” she whispers under her breath.
“What?” I look over the crowd of people a few feet away. I don’t recognize anyone, not that I expect to.
“The guy over there in the yellow shirt’s name is Hayes. He and I, well, I don’t know what we were. I guess nothing.” She hushes as they head closer to us.
Grabbing her hand, I lace my fingers between hers and I can feel the gravity of her stare as we progress towards him.
“What are you–”
I hush her, and she doesn’t question me further as we approach the crowd. The guy she pointed out definitely recognizes her, I mean, how couldn’t he, but doesn’t say a word. Whatever he did or didn’t do, at least I can help her make him feel like he missed out.
Rounding the end of the street, she pulls her hand from mine.
“What was that about?”
“Eh, figured might as well make him jealous.”
“Jealous of what exactly?” She scoffs. “You? Because I highly doubt it. All of you cowboys think so damn highly ofyourself that he probably didn’t notice either of us. You all just peacock around like you’re a gift to this world.”
My ego feels slightly deflated. I sure as hell don’t want to be lumped with a bunch of selfish pricks, but at this point, I expect nothing less from her. “First off, don’t group me with the assholes who crossed ya. They sound like losers and that isn’t ameproblem.” I don’t mean to fight back so crassly, but I didn’t do anything, and for whatever reason, it feels necessary to remind her of that. “And trust me, he noticed. Didn’t ya see him all google-eyed at ya as we walked by?” Her eyebrow raises and I decide if she hatesourconfidence, maybe it’s because she’s never been given any of her own. “Can’t say I blame him, look at ya.” I walk backwards in a circle around her, pretending to look her up and down as a show, but taking my time because not a man out there could resist her.
Her cheeks flush and I may have said it hoping for that response, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t mean it too.
“Right, whatever, I guess.” She looks down at the pavement beneath our feet and I can tell she isn’t really used to accepting a compliment, though I can’t imagine she isn’t used to getting them either.
Still watching her feet, I take the opportunity to trace her body, noting every curve.
Her hair is so blonde it’s practically white and scattered throughout are black and pink stripes. I doubt that’s what they’re called, but whatever they are, they make her different and they definitely don’t make her any less hot as hell. She’s sun kissed and wears a nose ring on her cute little nose. Black eyeliner rims her golden-green eyes and she’s so beautiful, it’s shocking that she’s not famous because of it.
“I see you checking me out, Casanova.” Her voice pulls me out of my trance and a self-assured smile brushes her lips. “Not happening.” She turns her head from side-to-side ever so slightly, but I’m not fully convinced of her annoyance.
“Wasn’t checkin’ ya out, just lookin’ at ya.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, stop.”
I sarcastically salute her. “Yes, ma’am.” I return my eyes forward and away from her.
“How did you and Sawyer become friends?” she asks, keeping her question about someone else as well.
“We work construction together, that about sums up the situation.” I consider explaining more in depth the reason we both landed at the construction site, that neither of us particularly have a passion for it, but that’s not what she asks and the more I lean into that, the closer I’d be getting to a sob story which isn’t what I’m going for. I’d rather she sees the positive and assertive version of me, not a cry baby.
“Construction?” Her confusion isn’t hidden, in fact, it’s so obvious I don’t even have to look at her to know it’s there. “You ride bulls, you’re a big shot, you make tons of money,andyou work construction… For what, fun?”
Laughter spills from my chest. “I don’t ride bulls…not anymore. But, I’m flattered ya think I’m a rich big shot. Far from it, but flattered.” Pausing, I question how she knows that, but also feeling warmth in her compliment. “I guess ya do have somethin’ nice to say, Angel.”
