31. Stetson
THIRTY-ONE
STETSON
May 18th, 2024
I mash the red disconnect button on the phone, ending the third nasty voicemail from Craig just this week. Each voicemail gets more threatening. It’s obvious he hates me, regardless of the shared blood between us—but rather because of it. He wants my ranch, and I’m growing more afraid of just how far he will go to get it.
Since Gus’s arrest, and then dropped charges—which I still don’t know how—my status as an outcast and degenerate has only escalated. If I was hated before, now I’m enemy number one. Part of that I attribute to my affiliation with Gus, part of that I attribute to being a ‘yuppy’ from Colorado, and part of that, I am sure, is coming from the discontent Craig is stirring among the townsfolk who already despise me.
How he was readily accepted as an outsider, I don’t know.
Probably because he has a penis.
I can’t win this fight, not on my own, anyway, and my will power to try is quickly running out more each day. Which is why I’m meeting Dale today to figure out what my options might be. I need money—that’s really what it boils down to. If I can fix up the property and show the town that I do, in fact, have the best intentions for this place, maybe they will help me run Craig off. And as much as I hate kissing ass, I can’t afford lawyers, nor do I want to waste valuable money on them, so winning the people is my only chance.
I park my truck in front of the little restaurant and flip down my visor, taking in my tired expression. I’m run down; the bags under my eyes can be seen from miles away. Between trying to hide from Gus, constantly looking over my shoulder for when my stalker will pop up next, outsmarting Craig, and running a falling apart ranch, I have no shits left to invest in how I look. My hair is pulled back into a messy half-up, half-down do, with the ends curled. I attempted makeup to hide the bags, but it came out heavier than a normal day, with dark lining my eyelids and shimmering red gloss on my plump lips. Smudging the corner of my mouth with a finger, I smack my lips together with a pop.
This is as good as it’s going to get.
I walk into the grimy restaurant, holding my head high, determined to look more confident than I feel. Fake it until you make it, baby. A loud whistle cuts through the crowded room, drawing multiple sets of eyes in my direction—some disapproving, some appreciative, all unwanted . I glance around the room, looking for the owner of the whistle, quickly spotting Dale’s tan face and impossibly white teeth beaming back at me. Her hair is down in long soft curls sweeping the ground as she sits.
She looks like the country version of Rapunzel.
I hurriedly walk toward the table where Dale already has two large margaritas sweating on the wood. It’s not a big gesture, but it still causes my blacked heart to twitch. She’s so effortlessly kind, always considering what I might need or want, before I even know it myself.
I know to be loved is to be seen, to be considered, and if I had a bisexual bone in my body, I know I’d no doubt be in love with Dale. But as it is, I just love her—I have a best friend, who I love, and with striking clarity, based on the margarita—Tajin, not salt, like I like it—I know she loves me.
How did I get so lucky?
“Am I late?” I ask, shuffling into the brown leather booth, my heart now lumped in my throat. Dale waves me off, leaning in to take a large slurp of her margarita.
“Naw, I got here early; wanted to get started.” She grins warmly at me, and I smile back, pulling my slushy green drink toward me. I wonder what is going on with Dale. She smiles and jokes, but more and more she seems… hollow. Her smile never quite reaches her eyes, and her laugh never quite sounds genuine. I hate to see her suffering in silence.
I’m opening my mouth to demand answers when Dale cuts me off, most likely sensing my impending questions.
“School has been so crazy, and I just need a break. Nothing too serious—happens every year. Now, I’ve been completely deprived of you and your Soap Opera life! Tell me, have you hooked up with the hunky ranch hand yet?”
I groan, taking a long gulp of the lime-flavored tequila, searching for strength at the bottom of the glass. Never one to be subtle, Dale kicks my shin under the table, and I cough, spewing margarita all over the table.
I suck in a sharp breath and glare at the spitfire. “No, Dale, geez. Not all of us are sex-crazed. I have other shit going on.” The words are harsh, but there is no bite to them.
“So, you’re still hiding from him, then. Have your fingers gotten a break in weeks?” Dale reaches across the table, snatching my hand, holding it up for inspection. I yank it back with a growl. “What? Just checking they weren’t robotic or something. I’ve been too busy for any action myself; thought if they were battery-operated, I might invest in some.” Dale slurps again, making me bark in laughter.
“Where do you come up with this shit?” I ask between gasps.
“Porn mostly,” Dale states flatly. I laugh harder, snorting in the process, and Dale’s face softens. She smiles a toothy grin, and I can’t help but feel like it is the first real one I have seen since I got here.
“Have I mentioned I love you—” I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye, my chest still vibrating with laughter. She smiles wider, her own eyes glistening, and I want to climb across the table to hug her, or under it and hide. Because no , I’ve never mentioned it even though she has several times, and we’re both painfully aware of the fact. But, in true Dale fashion, she knows I can’t dwell on it, or I will surely detonate from embarrassment. She only shrugs and blessedly says nothing.
In the space of a single heartbeat, she blinks, dispelling the sheen across her eyes, and leans forward conspiratorially. “Let’s see what I’ve heard, and then you can fill in the gaps. Gus got arrested, and then Gus got off scot-free?” She raises an eyebrow and I just slurp in confirmation. A wicked grin tips her lips. “You’re masturbating five times a day at least, based on how tightly wound you are. Oh, what about your Uncle? Heard anything from him? Is he still threatening to bring the town and pitchforks? Oh my God, your stalker! Has he left you any new… surprises?”
My brows twitch at her onslaught of questions, and I hold a finger up to my lips. “Dale,” I hiss, looking around the crowded room. “I don’t need everyone to know every horrible thing about me. People already hate me; you don’t need to give them more fuel.”
“Sorry.” Dale giggles sheepishly.
“I still know nothing about what happened with Gus, other than Nathan dropped the charges and refuses to even make eye contact with me. That is fine, other than I needed his family to buy a hundred cattle pairs like you suggested. I need that money, like yesterday. And since Gus fucked that up, I have no idea what to do. I don’t think anyone would buy them if I went to a sale, so what do I do?”
She waits, I’m sure expecting me to elaborate on her other questions, but my nerves are too fried. As much as I love her and her company, I need to focus.
Dale squeezes my wrist reassuringly. “It’s hard in this town. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be here and get everything you want from this life. People have their heads so stuck in the sand, they often forget that a whole world is happening above, and I am sorry. I wish I could make them see how incredible you are. Just don’t give up.”
My shoulders slump.
“Listen, I have a, urm… friend that I’ve known for years from showing cattle. He’s a very well-connected guy. His family owns a huge herd and some casinos and things, but more than that, he’s one of the fairest people I’ve ever met. I think he’d be interested in buying whatever you are willing to sell.” I grumble, ready to protest, and she squeezes my wrist again. “Being the Ag teacher, and town favorite, means I have a lot of good connections, so let me use them to help you.” She winks at me and I deflate. I need the help desperately.
“A friend, huh?” I tease Dale, and she withdraws her fingers from my wrist with mock horror.
“What else is going on with your life?” I press, wanting to be as invested—and helpful—to Dale as she is to me. But like always, Dale brushes me off—if I thought I was private, Dale is a vault, so closed off I know it has to be miserably lonely. “Dale.”
She slurps her drink and forces a smile. “Oh, ya know. Besides school, I don’t have much going on—aside from keeping up with your life. ”
“And your parents and sister?” I ask, smiling as fries in every shape and color arrive at our table.
“Nothing too crazy. Now, let’s focus on your love life—it’s getting borderline painful to watch.” I want her to open up to me, but I know I’ve been effectively shut out.
Again.
“Try living it,” I grumble, shoveling a crispy potato into my mouth.
“You just need to fuck him and get it out of your system,” Dale states matter-of-factly between bites.
I glare at her. “Are we back to this again?”
Dale pops a sweet potato fry into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “You didn’t agree with me the first time. So, I’m giving it another go.”
“It’s too complicated,” I whine, for what feels like the hundredth time.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not. He has a penis, you have a vagina, along with whatever other holes you enjoy using. He gets hard, you get wet.” Dale smacks her hands together and I snort. Loudly. Heads turn toward us, eyes filled with judgment burning across my skin, but Dale doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she meets each glare with a beaming smile and a wild wave of her hands. They all quickly turn back around as if scolded.
I want to be just like Dale when I grow up.
“I’m not letting him near any of my holes,” I whisper over the rim of my second margarita, fighting off a smile, and I know Dale can tell. She kicks at my legs again, but I just ignore it, the alcohol dulling what will surely be the ache of a bruise tomorrow.
I lean forward, mumbling around the end of the straw, “He’s moody and demanding. I’m pretty sure he’s a dangerous criminal. I mean, the things he did to Nathan…” I take another hu rried sip, trying to forget the other things I remember about him— the things I still haven’t mustered enough courage to ask him about . “And Lord, he makes me so mad! Sometimes, I’m certain I hate him. I can’t get him out from under my skin, and it drives me so fucking crazy. No, definitely no holes.”
Dale erupts in laughter, making me jump slightly in my seat. I grin back at her, feeling more and more relaxed as the tequila pumps through my veins.
“Maybe Dale will offer her holes, then,” Gus’s raspy voice deadpans from behind me, and I look down into the green pool of shame that is now dangerously close to empty and then back up at Dale.
“I tried to warn you,” Dale whispers between pinched lips. I hang my head and then swivel to look over my shoulder.
Stupid fucking mistake.
Gus is always hot—annoyingly, dangerously, distractedly sexy—to the point I hate being around him because of the way butterflies always erupt in my stomach. But with the haze of alcohol crawling over my eyes, he is deadly .
The butterflies don’t erupt in my stomach— they consume it . The sudden heat of arousal pooling between my thighs makes me rub them together, and he, of course, zeros in on the action.
He never misses anything, does he?
Unable to stir up any embarrassment or self-restraint, I focus on the irritation that always accompanies the two emotions when I’m around Gus. Better pissed off than humping him in public.
“What are you doing here?” I growl at him, and his eyebrow raises, his eyes still shamelessly glued to my upper thighs. It’s not a caressing assessment, it’s a fiery, brazen one. One that has me borderline whining.
His eyes finally snap back up to my face, matching annoyance lacing each word as he speaks. “Getting dinner?”
Dale quickly slides over in the booth, patting the leather next to her.
“Please, join us! We have officially taste tested all the french fries. I think the garlic Parmesan ones are the best, but Stetson had to be a brat and vote plain—so fucking vanilla of her, I know. There’s still a ton here, though. You can snack while you order.” Dale looks at me, mischief carved into every crease of her face. “Stetson needs another drink, anyway, so we will be a bit.”
I open my mouth to object, but Gus is already sliding into the booth next to Dale, his muscular arm rippling as he drapes it behind her head. He shifts, facing Dale a little more, flashing her a dazzling set of white teeth—a smile so rare, I’ve never even seen it. And that makes me murderous.
You’re fucking losing it, dude.
I will not be jealous of Dale; she deserves good dick, too. And fuck, I bet Gus has the best dick ever. I lick my lips, slurping loudly at the bottom of the glass. The image of Gus’s dick, replacing the straw in my mouth—and fuck if I don’t suck harder.
I look back up, instantly regretting it, as Dale’s eyes widen, and a sheepish grin spreads across her features. There’s no way she is immune to Gus’s good looks and charm; you’d have to be a brick wall to be immune. But still, he’s mine.
Except he isn’t, you crazy bitch.
I raise my arm, waving frantically at the waitress for another margarita.
“I have to agree with Dale. The garlic Parmesan is the best.” Gus chuckles, and I roll my eyes. Both Dale and Gus watch me intently, but I’ve had enough tequila at this point that my inhibitions are all but lost to the bottom of the glass.
Let them fucking look—better than making googly eyes at each other .
“I, uh, I need the little girl’s room,” Dale states, and Gus shifts, his dark curls falling over his face.
“Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to trap you,” he teases, and the flirtatious tone of his voice instantly makes me gag around my straw.
Who the fuck is this guy? He has never flirted with me like this.
As Dale hurries to the back of the restaurant, my eyes snap to Gus’s smug face, his eyes already boring into me.
“Lay. Off,” I bite out.
He leans back into the booth, the motion making his black T-shirt stretch tighter over his chiseled chest, and I absently lick my lips.
“Lay off what?” he asks innocently, popping another fry in his annoying mouth.
I snarl, shifting to lean over the table. “This fake, thick-ass flirt bit you got going on. No one likes it. No one finds it cute.”
“Dale doesn’t seem to dislike it.”
“I mean it, Gus,” I hiss, sucking in a sharp breath.
He leans forward, his face only inches from mine. “Make me.”
Dale rushes back to the table, babbling about needing to let her cat out for its walk, and then hugs me fiercely. I can smell the tequila lacing her breath, her chest bumping into my own.
“I love you, but you are being stupid. Do not let fear ruin your life, Stetson.”
Gus drove me home; I could barely walk back to the truck on my own two feet. I was pissed when we left, but now I feel nothing but fear—fear of how badly I want this man who has been the shadow in every single one of my nightmares. I’m afraid of myself and how much I need him.
I open the truck door, ready to bolt to my room as the tires come to a screeching halt. The tension has built to an inferno inside the tight cab, and if I sit here any longer, there will be no survivors between the two of us. I vault up the porch steps when Gus’s strong hand clamps around my elbow, so hot and punishing I yelp.
“What are you doing?” I scream into the darkness, my body trembling beneath his touch. I have to get away—the fear, arousal, and tequila swirling so violently in my head I feel lightheaded.
“Are you scared?” he whispers, his breath fanning over my neck.
I yank at my arm, trying to free myself from his grip. “No.”
“Stop lying.” He bares his teeth at me, and I instantly feel more than scared—I’m terrified.
And so horny my clit actually throbs.
“I’m not scared.” I lift my chin to meet his eyes. “I just hate you. I hate being this close to you. I hate that you think you can manhandle me and I’ll like it. I hate that you flirt with Dale, but just growl and hiss at me. I hate that you’re everywhere, all the time. I can’t escape you. I can’t escape my hate for you.” I hope the words hurt, drive him away, punish him the way I have been punishing myself for feeling anything but those words for him.
A truly predatory smile claims his face, and I stop breathing. “Say it again.”
“I. Hate. You,” I bite out, each word more of a lie than the next.
Gus grabs my other arm so quickly my head snaps back with the movement. As fast as a switch, he picks me up by the flesh of my upper arms and slams me into the side of the house. I scream, both from the pain erupting up my back and the frustration of being manhandled. Stars dance dangerously behind my eyes, but I can’t look away from the monster crawling out of its cage in front of me. He’s transforming in front of my eyes, no longer the growly but complacent man I’ve come to know and fear. No, this version of him is angry and violent and takes what it wants—and fuck if it doesn’t call to my very soul in a hushed whisper only the truly fucked up and depraved can hear.
“Well, guess what, Stetson? I hate you, too. I hate that you think you can run from me. I hate that you think your life will possibly be complete without me in it. I hate that you don’t think you need me.” He says each word so quietly I can’t tell if they are in my head or not. Because no matter how many times and ways I’ve imagined this moment, it never came with an admission like that.
One that has my heart shattering.
And then his mouth crushes down on mine, all thoughts engulfed in the fire that is us .
It isn’t a gentle, tender, loving first kiss. It is painful, punishing, all-consuming . His tongue spears through my puffy lips, ripping into me, prying my teeth apart, ignoring any attempts to keep him out. He is having me, whether I want it or not.
And fuck, I want it.
I cling to him, my fingers digging into the flesh of his arms, scratching and clawing—trying to get closer. He bites brutally on my lip until it cracks, copper spilling into our mouths, and he groans at the taste, the sound sending vibrations ricocheting through me.
Gus presses his hard body into my soft one, pinning me against the wall with the weight of it. His hands release my arms, one spearing through my hair, gripping it at the roots as he tips my head back to dive deeper into my mouth. The second- hand drifts down to the edge of my sundress, gripping the cheek of my ass, pulling my hips even tighter to his. I roll them, focused on the feeling of the hard length of his cock pressed between my legs, gasping into his mouth.
I want him desperately. I grind again, hungry for his dick to rub against my sensitive clit, searching for the pressure and friction only he can give me.
He hisses, trusting his hips forward to meet me. “Fuck, Stetson. So fucking greedy.”
I whimper, riding against his hips harder and faster, my own hands tugging at the roots of his curls. His hair, fuck, it’s softer than I imagined—and I’ve imagined it in painstaking detail.
I want more—need more. If he doesn’t give me everything right this minute, I will surely die.
His tongue and teeth and lips assault my tender ones, but I meet them biting and sucking and clawing back. I pour every ounce of anger and frustration into his mouth, and he gladly swallows it whole. It only feeds his desire.
He rips at the strands of my hair once more, yanking my head back farther, breaking the searing kiss only to weld his lips to the column of my throat. He bites and sucks at my neck with the viciousness of a crazed man.
And I have never. Been. More. Turned. On.
“I want everyone to know. I want everyone to see. You are mine,” he growls into the crevice of my throat.
And then, as all good things in my life, this moment explodes into a million pieces of what could have been.
The words pull me back through the alcohol and desire-induced haze. I shove at his chest frantically with all my strength, catching him off guard. He stumbles back just a step, his eyes snapping up to my face.
How could I have forgotten? How could I be so careless, so blind with alcohol—with lust?
He snarls and advances toward me again, but I instinctively snap out my hand, the palm connecting with his face. His expression doesn’t shift or change, but I watch his chest heave, his arms quivering with restrained anger. I don’t wait for him to say anything—if he advances on me again, I will surely melt into a puddle of need at his feet.
I rush to my room, slamming the door behind me, and fall to the floor in a blubbering mess. My lips feel swollen and sore against my rough hands, but I ignore them. It’s nothing compared to the pain swelling inside of me.
There are too many secrets, too many unresolved problems, too many forces against me, against him, against us. They sit like a thousand pound horse on my chest, crushing me. I feel them clawing at my skin, hear them screaming in my ears, taste them bleeding on my tongue. It’s a poison blooming between us, and not for the first time, I fear what will happen when we have to face them all.
Will we survive it? Will I want to?