“Perfect. Eat and get out there.”
Cole finishes his dinner fast, fork scraping the plate, chair scraping back and looks at me before leaving the table.
“I’ll be in the truck when you’re done,” he says, voice low, rough, eyes flicking to mine for half a second before he’s gone.
“Grab that rifle,” John says to him.
Cole nods, short, sharp and heads out.
I finish my food, roll dry in my mouth, sweet tea too sweet, too cold sliding down my throat and head outside. The night air hits cool against my skin. Cole is already in the truck waiting for me, engine idling low, headlights cutting through thedark, exhaust curling faint in the cool air. So I climb in, door heavy, leather seat cool under my thighs.
I’ve never done anything like this before and I’ve definitely never shot a gun before. The cab smells like him—leather, pine, faint sweat from the day, that cedar cologne that clings to everything he touches.
“You know how to use that thing?” I ask, glancing down into the back seat where the rifle lies, black metal gleaming dull under the dash light.
“No, it's for looks,” he says deadpan, toothpick rolling in his mouth.
I roll my eyes. Probably not the best time to be making jokes, but okay. The tension in the cab is thick, the engine rumbling low under us, headlights bouncing over the gravel as we pull out.
“I’ve never shot one before,” I say.
“Do you want to?” he asks, voice quieter now, curious.
I shrug my shoulders. “Eh, if you know how to use it I’m sure we will be safe.”
He nods, driving us down into pasture forty, the truck bouncing over ruts, headlights sweeping across tall grass and fence lines, the dark stretching wide around us.
“So what do we do? Just sit here and watch?” I ask.
“Yeah. That’s about it.”
“You gonna give me short answers all night?” I ask, glancing over at him from the passenger seat, his profile sharp in the dash glow, jaw tight, hands strong on the wheel.
He lets out an exhale—long, slow—and looks out the window, then back over to me. “I’m sorry about earlier. Okay? I’m also sorry if you feel like I’ve been dicking you around. That wasn’t my intention at all. I can promise you that,” he says—voice rough, low, eyes flicking to mine for a second before returning to the dark ahead.
“Alright,” I say, looking out the driver-side window—grass whipping past, stars sharp overhead.
“This is going to be a long night,” he says as he puts the truck in park.
“Yep,” I say, opening the car door and stepping outside onto the field. The grass is cool and damp under my boots.
He opens his door fast and jumps down. “Just what the hell are you doing? It’s dangerous being out here—it’s dark and there’s a huge possibility that there are coyotes and you think it’s best to get out and smell the fresh air. Get back in the truck, Layla.” He demands—voice sharp, protective.
“No. I’m fine. If I hear something I will let you know. If I need to sit down I’ll climb in the back of the truck,” I say, letting the truck bed down—metal clanging softly.
“Get in the truck.”
“No.” I step closer to him—close enough to smell him again, pine and sweat and him.
“Layla.”
“Cole.”
We stare at each other—it’s dark out here and yes I’m terrified but also I’m not because I know Cole will protect me and if I’m being honest just being five feet away from him makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. The night wraps around us, crickets, wind rustling the grass and his breath visible in the cool air. His eyes are dark, intense, locked on mine, and for a second I think he might close the distance. My heart hammers, thighs clenching at the thought.
We stare, dark out here, yes I’m terrified, but also I’m not, because I know he’ll protect me. I’m five feet away from him and I feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. His jaw is clenched, eyes locked on mine, breath visible in the cool air. For a second I think he might close the distance. My heart hammers, thighs clenching at the thought.
Then he moves, fast, deliberate. One hand grabs my waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, thumb stroking the curve of my hip like he can’t get enough, the other cups the back of my neck, and he kisses me. Hard. Hungry. Lips crashing against mine, tongue sweeping in like he’s claiming every inch of my mouth. I moan into him, loud, desperate, hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer. He tastes like beer and mint and him, the stubble on his jaw scraping my skin, sending sparks down my spine.
