Chapter 15
Fifteen
Remi
“Have you told anyone about your new after-hours hobby?”
Gentry lifts his gaze from the slab of clay he’s working between his hands. “It’s nobody’s business.”
I chuckle. Such a Gentry response. “Fair enough. Do Finn and Hollis at least know about the pain you’ve been experiencing?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs, his focus back on the clay. “Why would I worry them about somethin’ like that? It’s not like they’d have some magical solution the doctor didn’t have.”
“Yeah, but it’s ranch related,” I say. “You know they’d take whatever they needed to off your plate to help.”
“They don’t need to,” he pushes back stubbornly. “I’ve done this work my whole life. I’ll figure it out. They do enough.”
Gentry got here about a half hour ago, right at the end of my class.
After the last student left and I locked up, we got to work.
I’m giving him a little more freedom tonight, since it’s no longer his first rodeo.
He did pretty well last time, really only needing my help toward the end.
I’m sitting across from him at my own wheel, molding my own slab of clay, while he does the same.
It’s relaxing. And it’s giving me a chance to pick Gentry’s brain a little since he has a basic understanding of what to do.
“You know you won’t be able to keep this up forever,” I point out. “There will come a time when your body will have to slow down, even if you don’t want to. At some point, you’re goin’ to have to give some of the responsibility to them.”
“I know that,” he grumbles, a scowl deepening on his face.
“I watched my granddaddy age and take a step back from the business, and my own father. I’m not an idiot, Remington.
I know I won’t be able to work on the ranch forever.
But I’m not there yet. I’m only fifty-four, for Christ’s sake.
I’ve still got some years left in me. My father didn’t start slowin’ down until he was at least sixty. ”
“But you’re not him. You can’t base what’s best for you and your health off of what your father did, or what his father did before him.
That’s not sustainable. And I’m willing to bet they probably should’ve slowed down a lot earlier than they did too, but like you, they were stubborn, hard-headed men. ”
A sound somewhere between a snort and a scoff comes out of him as he lets go of the wheel and stares at me. “I’m not stubborn or hard-headed.”
“Yeah, right.” I chuckle. “Whatever you say, old man. Why are you so hellbent on runnin’ full speed ahead, anyway? You have to know that Finn and Hollis are more than capable of takin’ over. It’s what you’ve raised them for their whole lives.”
Gentry is quiet. I’m not even a little surprised that he won’t answer me.
He’s always been a man of a few words. A mystery, if you will.
It makes sense, the way he rarely shows emotion or talks about his feelings.
After all, he is a man raised in Texas during a time when it was engrained in little boys that showing emotions made you weak.
“I might be up for captain at work,” I say when it becomes clear he won’t be giving me anything. I don’t know why I want Gentry to open up to me so badly, but I do. Maybe pivoting the conversation will help him do that.
He raises his brows, giving me a quick glance before getting back to the clay. “You don’t sound too thrilled.”
“What? Yes, I am.”
“You seem to forget that I’ve seen you excited about things before.
Like that god-forsaken death trap of a bike you and Hollis brought home.
Hell, when you made lieutenant, you damn near exploded through my front door to tell all of us during Wednesday dinner.
This”—he gestures in my general direction—“isn’t that. Not by a long shot.”
It’s my turn to scoff, my pulse kicking up. “Ever thought that maybe I’m just older and more mature now, so I don’t feel the need to ‘explode,’ as you put it?”
Gentry chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. “No, that’s not it.”
The wheel stops spinning, and I sit with my forearms resting over my thighs. “And how can you be so sure?”
“Because, Remington, you wear your heart on your sleeve. Always have. If this was somethin’ you genuinely wanted, there would be no hidin’ the fact.”
I pause, swallowing thickly against the lump in my throat. “But I’m tellin’ you right now…”
“Tellin’ me and bein’ excited about it are two very different things.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. It’s not like I can say he’s wrong… He’s not. I’m not exactly quiet or chill when I want something. I’ve always been a give-it-all-you-got type of guy, and when I’m excited about something, people know.
Blowing out a breath, I press down on the peddle that starts the wheel again. “I want to make captain,” I say. “It’s always been part of the plan.”
“What plan?”
“The one where I follow in my father’s footsteps. The one where I make him and our family name proud.”
“Ah,” he hums, nodding like suddenly everything makes sense. “You mean that’s always been the expectation.”
I stare at him, my brows pinched with confusion. “That’s the same thing.”
“No.” He shakes his head, breathing out a small chuckle. “It’s not.”
“How so?”
“Let me ask you this,” he says, sitting up straighter. “If your father hadn’t been a firefighter, and had he not expressed a desire for you to become one too, would you have still taken the path you did?”
“Would you have still become a rancher if it weren’t for your family?”
A barely-there smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “We’re not talkin’ about me right now. Answer the question, Remington.”
My heart is in my throat, and my ears are ringing. “I… Actually, I don’t know.”
“So then, why do you want to become captain?” he asks. “Put all the expectations aside, and think about it.”
“You sound like my chief.” I sigh heavily, trying to keep my tone light even though I’d rather do anything than have this conversation.
The clock is ticking, and I know I’m running out of time to give Chief Daniels my final answer, but it’s like there’s a roadblock in my mind, refusing to allow me to figure it out.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, or why this is so difficult.
Or why having Gentry ask me the very same thing makes me feel so… exposed. And not in a fun way.
“How about we get back to the reason we’re here,” I say, nodding toward the mess in Gentry’s hands. “What’s goin’ on there?”
His jaw tightens as he looks down. “It’s doin’ the same shit it did last time,” he grumbles. “I don’t know why this is so fuckin’ hard.”
A smile tugs at my mouth, and I’m on my feet before I can stop it. Heat pools in my belly the closer I get to him, knowing how intense his proximity felt, and how affected he was by my proximity last time.
“Let me help you,” I murmur softly. Coming up behind him, I place my hands over his, a jolt of electricity sparking between us. Gentry exhales sharply, his shoulders tense, and I can’t help but wonder if he felt it too.
My hands slide over his, guiding his thumbs inward.
Clay sticks to our fingers, cool and wet, but the warmth coming from his body bleeds through, and it’s all I can focus on.
I apply more pressure, and his breath catches, just once before he corrects himself.
The sound lands squarely in my gut. The room suddenly feels too small as the wheel hums, and the temperature too warm.
Sweat beads along my hairline, a layer of goosebumps prickling my flesh.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “Feel how it responds?”
Gentry’s shoulders relax. He leans back a fraction, enough to feel his body press ever so slightly into my chest. His scent surrounds me, leather and pine, and something else entirely that’s all him.
My mouth waters, and my eyelids flutter as I inhale deeply, wanting to catalog the scent to memory.
Our hands continue to mold the clay together, the air between us charged.
Gentry knows exactly what he’s doing. There’s no way he doesn’t.
What’s running through his head right now?
My heart gallops, ready to take off in a frenzy.
How can something as innocent as pottery—something I’ve done for years and taught for almost as long—feel so…
sensual? My body is tuned in to every part of him.
His shallow breaths, the way his hair feels against my cheek, how his fingers move effortlessly with mine.
All of it is heady and too much, and I desperately want to know if he feels it too.
Tilting his head, Gentry peers up at me.
His pupils are blown wide, making his chocolaty eyes appear black.
A rush of heat zips down my spine, settling low in my groin.
“You this thorough with all your students?” he asks, voice full of gravel.
Swallowing thickly, I murmur, “Not usually.”
His gaze drops to my mouth before coming back up again. It happens so fast that, had I not been so focused on him, I would’ve missed it entirely. And his hands falter, making the clay wobble. I should step back. Put some distance between us and correct his posture. Get back on track.
I don’t do any of that.
Instead, my fingers tighten instinctively, steadying both the clay and Gentry.
The touch is, once again, electric. It’s too much and, somehow, not enough.
It’s everything. I can’t breathe, my lungs squeezing and my heart racing, especially when Gentry’s eyes flick up to mine again, and I see the desire I’m feeling reflecting back at me.
The air around us thickens, and everything in the room vanishes.
“Then why take such a special interest in me?” Gentry rasps as he turns, slow and deliberate, the clay forgotten altogether.
I drag my tongue across my lips, hoping to bring some moisture back to my mouth. My pulse roars in my ears as my mind attempts to make sense of what’s happening. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like Gentry’s giving me an opening. Like he wants me to make a move.
But that can’t be right… Can it?
Only one way to find out.
“You know why,” I mutter before crashing my lips against his.
Gentry’s mouth meets mine with intention.
There’s no hesitation between us, no softness to ease us into it.
It’s heat and hunger, full of fervor, like he’s been thinking about this kiss for as long as I have.
I groan before I can stop myself, the sound swallowed by Gentry’s mouth as he stands and fights me for control.
Clay-slicked fingers slide under my shirt, anchoring me and pulling me closer until there’s nothing left between us but hot breath and pure need.
Fisting the front of his shirt, I walk us backward until his ass hits the counter in front of the room.
How we make it over here without knocking anything over is beyond me.
Gentry spins us until it’s me propped on the edge of the counter.
My hand slides to the back of his neck, nestling my fingers through his thick, dark strands.
Tilting his head, he deepens the kiss as my other hand rolls down his back and over his ass, grabbing a fistful and pulling him closer.
This time, it’s him groaning, and I lose what little restraint I had left.
I’m drunk on Gentry. The taste of him on my tongue, the way he melts into me, and the way his body answers mine without either of us saying a word.
The kiss is messy, and overwhelming, and so fucking perfect.
Made even better when he rolls his hips, and I feel it…
He’s hard. I gasp when he grinds his erection against me, the knowledge that he’s as into this as I am lighting a fire inside me.
I’m lost in him. Nothing else matters. Not the wet clay now covering our clothes, not the fact that he’s my best friend’s dad and I probably shouldn’t be doing this.
Gentry slaps his hand against the cabinet next to my head and bites down on my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
I groan and bring my hand around to the front of jeans, but before I have a chance to unbutton them, Gentry takes a sharp step back.
It’s like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on us, and I have whiplash from the sudden shift.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, confusion clouding my mind.
Gentry’s fingers brush his lips, and he gazes down at them, like he’s looking for answers. “I have to go,” he grunts, taking another step back before spinning on his heel.
“What?” I huff and jump down from the counter. “Right now?”
He doesn’t bother answering me. He just leaves. And I’m left standing in this empty studio, with swollen lips and a stiff dick.
What the fuck just happened?