I smirk, my hand draped over the steering wheel. “Of course, you are. You’ve got a big, brilliant brain in that head of yours.”
She leans against her seat, smile growing, eyes shining. “You think I’m brilliant?”
I dip my chin. “I know you’re brilliant. One of the hottest things about you is your ambition. Your drive. Your intelligence. How you get every single thing you want based on pure brains, talent, and hunger.”
She rolls her head to look at me entirely, face softening.
I meant every word of that, by the way. Strings attached or not, I am well aware that she is one of the most remarkable women in the world. Never denied that.
I know she’s thinking about that job she lost, and I can’t pretend to know every detail about that situation, but it’s clear that it took something from her. Made her less sure of herself. She might not realize it, but losing her job changes nothing about her. She’s still exactly who she’s always been. Whoever let her go was intimidated by the way every single eye always goes to her when she’s in the room, every ear always listens. She will demand control, power, and attention without fail. Every single time. They were scared of her. That’s all there is to it. It had nothing to do with her inadequacies and everything to do with how she didn’t have any.
She gets everything she wants, all the fucking time. That takes power. Pure, unadulterated ambition and power. Look at us, right now. This girl has been chasing me for years, unapologetically, and look where I am. Look whose mouth I’m kissing. Look who I can’t stop thinking about. Who I miss when she’s not around.
Ariana Forkerro is a force of nature and she will always,alwaysbe the one in control of her story.
When we pull up to the house, the sun is starting to set. She hops out of the truck and marches right around the porch without glancing back in my direction, leaving me behind to go and say hello to all the animals that she hasn’t seen for weeks.
Thatis my second favourite thing about her. Or third. I can’t quite pinpoint a favourite. It changes every day, so I don’t actually know where this one lands, but it’s up there. She adores this farm as much as I do. She gets dirty for it. She rolls up her sleeves and helps me feed the animals, helps me clean, and begs me to get on the ground with the goats every single day. This place and this lifestyle are a big part of who I am, so seeing herso excited to experience it…It makes me look at her in a way that I shouldn’t. Even now.
I have a cup of tea waiting for her when she comes in through The Penthouse. Unsurprisingly, Wanton is at her heels, staring up at her with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. She thanks me with a peck on the lips and then takes her usual seat at the table, watching my every move as I cook her dinner.
I feel when her eyes linger on my body, and I love when they do. I try to stay focused instead of hauling her off that chair. It’s been a long couple of weeks without her, but she’s also had a long day of non-stop studying. She needs to eat.
We finish dinner, we cuddle the dogs on the couch while we watch a movie, and then we head up to bed. Nice. Routine. Something I thought I’d grow to hate quickly, but time has been passing and I yearn for it more than I’ve grown tired of it. Of her. I’m not panicking either, which is what typically happens the second that women start looking at me with somethingmorein their eyes.
But she’s always looked at me like that.
“Can you tell me something about yourself?” she whispers, her head on my bare chest.
I run my fingers over her arm. “Like what?”
“Anything. Something about Boston Black that I don’t know yet.”
None of it is pretty, sweetheart.
I stare at the dark wall of my bedroom, wondering what to say. Nothing comes to my head, that’s how simple of a man I am. I play hockey. She knows that. I run a farm. She knows that, too. I’m a country boy who hates country music. That doesn’t seem important enough.
“I chew that bubblegum because it was my brother’s favourite.”
She stills, her hand freezing on my chest. There’s a long, painful pause, and I fucking kick myself in the ass for saying it. I wonder why I said it at all. I don’t share that shit. Ever. That’s something that nobody knows, Forker and Lowesy included.
“Was?” she finally asks, her voice soft.
I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah. He died when he was four.”
She slowly lifts her head from my chest, her brow furrowed, eyes full of sympathy. I hate that look. It’s why I box these conversations away and let them collect dust.
I smile gently, reaching up to brush my knuckles against her cheek. “I’m okay.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t know.”
“Your brother, Lowesy, and Lemmy are the only people who even know he existed,” I admit, and that frown deepens. I’ve decided I don’t like that expression on her face at all. “I’ve never told anyone besides you about the gum.”
“Does it…” she starts, her throat bobbing. “Does it make you feel closer to him?”
I’ve never thought about it. I’ve just picked up this brand of gum whenever I see it since he died. I had a pocket full of it at the funeral, slipping a few pieces into his casket. It is such a notorious part of who I am now that the brand actually offered to work with me. I declined, but they sent me a huge box of gum, anyway. I got a kick out of that. Opening it, I could picture Ryan’s face if this had landed on our doorstep as kids. It felt like he was beside me that day. I hadn’t felt him in a while.
“It makes me feel like I’m doing my part to remember him, I think. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
