6. Montana
“Dammit, cat!” I grunt as the black-and-white ball of fur flies past me off the porch and out into the yard, nearly knocking me off my feet in the process.
“Was that Buttons?” Grandad asks as he steps out of the screen door and peers down at a bowl of untouched food and water.
Sighing, I say, “Grandad, it’s been almost two years since Buttons ran away. I don’t think that was her.”
“It was her, all right.”
The conviction in my grandfather’s voice makes my heart squeeze. He loved that cat, and while I’d heard plenty of miracle stories about pets returning to their homes after long absences, I couldn’t imagine this being one of them.
“Grandad,” I say gently, but he harumphs and holds up his hand.
“It was her. You’ll see.” My eyes move to where Celeste is drying a dish just inside the house. She gives me a sad smile before turning back toward the kitchen. I drag my palm down my face as I try and figure out how to prepare for the impending emotional crash.
My mind drifts to Vetted Paws, the local animal shelter over in Clementine Creek. They’re primarily a dog rescue, but I’m sure if I give them a call they can find me a cat for Grandad so he stops hanging his heart on the hope that Buttons has magically returned.
“You’ll see,” he repeats before heading inside, the slight slap of the screen door echoing around me as I pray for patience. Losing that damn cat had been hard enough, but having to endure it a second time would just be cruel.
Taking a breath, I go inside, leaving my boots on the mat in the entryway. The house smells like brisket and cornbread, and my mouth waters as I stalk toward the stove and drop a kiss on Celeste’s cheek.
She smiles and I nod before taking off down the hall toward my room. I need a shower, and I need to wash this day away if I have any chance of being ready for Ellison’s arrival in town.
My best friend coming home shouldn’t be a big deal.
But she’s not just my best friend. She’s my person and the kind of girl that drives you crazy but still makes you want to claim her forever.
My lips twitch as I strip off my shirt and toss it into the hamper with the rest of my clothes. Flipping on the shower, I wait as the water warms to something reasonable, my gaze jumping to my reflection in the mirror. Looking around, I flex my abs once but it has nothing to do with Ellison coming home.
Absolutely nothing.
Tattoos cover my shoulders, wrapping around one bicep and onto my back. They’re pieces of me that Ellison wasn’t here for, which is both sad and exhilarating. I want her to get to know me again.
I want her to want to get to know me again.
To trace the ink on my skin with her fingers, her mouth, and her tongue and ask me what they mean as she reacquaints herself with my body.
My dick bumping the sink has me jerking back a step and chuckling as I turn for the shower. I tried hard over the years not to let my mind conjure images of Ellison and me together—because even though we’d been young, that one night together had been incredible. It was cliché and a little awkward and absolutely perfect.
That memory does nothing to help keep my dick in check as the hot spray washes over me, my muscles practically groaning in relief. I’ve pushed myself harder every day in the fields this week in anticipation of her arrival.
Idle hands would only get me into trouble, and I have no doubt Ellison will bring plenty of that to my doorstep.
My lips twitch as I lather myself up with the soap that Bea makes, and I’m not ashamed to say I like how it makes my body feel. This one is green tea and something woodsy I can’t remember. It’s smooth and silky against my skin and does nothing to ease how hard I am right now.
It’s not even a choice when my hand wraps firmly around my dick and I pump it once, holding my fist at the head for a few seconds before sliding down to the base and doing it again. It’s torture because I want it to be her. I want her legs wrapped around my waist as I drive into her over and over, her tits bouncing as she screams my name.
Fuck.
The rhythm and pressure and the fucking fantasy have me on the verge of coming in no time. Pressing my lips together, I swallow the litany of curses that want to escape as I paint the tile with my release.
I shouldn’t be surprised that the only orgasm to knock me on my ass recently is by my own hand to thoughts of being inside my best friend.
That should probably be a red flag, but it has my lips lifting on one side instead. She’d take it as a compliment and undoubtedly razz me about jerking off to her. But honestly, who could blame me?
She’s her own yin and yang. The buttoned-up socialite with the fancy hair and designer clothes and the wild, cutoff-shorts goddess that only I got to see. My dick twitches at the way her hair would fall in loose waves around her shoulder, and I have to slam the water to cold to clear my mind.
Cleaning off the shower wall, I finish washing before tipping my head back under the water and taking a steadying breath. Despite my bravado, Ellison coming home has my belly swooping with nerves rather than butterflies.
Sure we’re still us, but we’re also us plus ten years. Talkin’ on the phone and doing video calls and texting since Nan passed isn’t the same as having her here with me. It’s not seein’ her smile when I make a joke or watching the way her eyelids fall closed on a sigh when she takes a bite of birthday cake ice cream because she was never allowed to have it at home.
We’re not kids anymore, and part of me worries that she’s romanticized a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore. Lovin’ her has always been easy, and I know that miles and years have no bearing on that—but what if she doesn’t like the man I’ve become?
I’m not the completely carefree kid that ran headfirst into danger and supported each and every one of her reckless ideas. She needed someone to catch her when she fell or when things went south, and I’d been proud to be that guy.
And for the last however many years she’d given that job to some asshat named Blake, who hadn’t had a single objection to our rekindled relationship. Something about it didn’t sit right with me. He’s lucky they’re over, and chances are I’ll never have to be in the same room as him.
Turning off the water, I dry myself haphazardly before wiping my fist against the mirror to clear the steam.
I need a plan.
And I need a plan before Ellison gets home because I know the moment I see her, every ounce of restraint I possess is gonna fly right out the window, and I can’t let that happen. I need her to see the life I’ve made here.
The life we can make together.
“Montana! Supper!” Celeste’s voice cuts through the musings running through my head, but it’s just as well. All I need is a good meal and some sleep and everything will be right as rain in the morning.