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“You're impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly.
“Is that it? I’ll take being impossible over being a pushover any day. You can try to stop me, Gray. I’m not going anywhere.
His voice lowered, rougher than before. “I'm not trying to stop you, Eryn. I will stop you.”
The challenge in his tone ignited a spark of defiance within me. I met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down.
“I don't back away from a challenge. If anything, it fuels me.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he clenched it in frustration. I watched his eyes flicker down to my lips. He took step closer again. So close, I could feel the heat coming off him.
He wanted to kiss me. I knew it. He probably wanted to strangle me too, but the feeling was mutual.
I breathed in, waiting for him to say something else to fuel the fire. Instead, he growled, then turned around and walked down the porch, his boots thudding like a hammer the whole way.
13
Gray
Sweat trickled down my back, a testament to the long day I’d already put in and it was only three o’clock. I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, probably leaving a streak of dirt across my forehead. My muscles were singing with the kind of ache that spoke of a day spent doing honest work, the kind that kept me grounded and content.
That is, until the trio that represented everything I found grating about the modern world showed up.
“Gray Anderson, as I live and breathe,” Zaya called out, her voice smooth like whiskey but with a kick that could rival any boot spur.
I straightened from the fence post I'd been hammering into the parched earth, squinting against the sunlight that haloed Zaya, Enzo, and Skylar in an almost picturesque manner. Hell, it was like they stepped right out of some glossy magazine, all style and shine in the middle of my dusty ranch.
I looked behind them, waiting for Eryn to appear, but she was nowhere to be found. My stomach sank in disappointment and I mentally punched it for being so pussy-whipped.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I nodded in greeting, my tone as dry as the ground beneath my boots.
“We're here to spread good cheer and fabulous invitations,” Enzo declared, his Italian accent more pronounced than usual, probably for effect.
Walker and Mason showed up, taking off their gloves and shoving them in their back pockets. They greeted the trio and I waited for this all to be over so I could get back to work.
Skylar stepped forward, the picture of Hollywood glamour misplaced in the rugged landscape. “We're celebrating Eryn's purchase tonight. It's our last night in town, and we thought it would be fun if you all joined us at the Dusty Barrel.”
I couldn't suppress the immediate scowl that furrowed my brow. The Dusty Barrel was downtown Whittier Falls' attempt at a honky-tonk bar, and while I didn't mind a drink now and then, I preferred the quiet of my own porch to the rowdiness of that place.
These guys didn’t belong there. Eryn sure as hell didn’t. I thought of the gaggle of men who’d no doubt line up to buy her a subpar drink. I wondered what she even drank? I knew The Dusty Barrel didn’t carry anything top shelf.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I grumbled, turning back to the fence. “I've got better things to do than nurse a beer in that shithole.”
Walker backhanded my ribs and stepped forward.
“I for one, would love to go. Thanks for the invite, Miss Skylar.”
“Of course. Mason, what about you?”
“Well, Abby’s already stayin’ at my parents’ tonight for a sleepover with her cousin. Might as well take advantage of the night off.”
“Perfect!” Zaya beamed.
“Come on, Gray,” Skylar urged, her blue contacts twinkling with persuasion. “It'll be fun! Live a little. I’m sure Eryn would really want you there.”
“Fun's not exactly on my agenda,” I said, hammering a nail with more force than necessary. “Especially not the kind that involves drunk cowboys trying to prove something and music so loud it drowns out your thoughts.”
Zaya folded her arms, the beads on her braids catching the light as she tilted her head. “Are you sure? It might do you some good to let loose for once.”
