Chapter 7
LUCAS
“Stay the fuck away from me,” Jenny spits, more vicious than I’ve ever heard her.
She turns to storm off, but I move before I can think about it. I snag her wrist, refusing to let go even when she puts all her strength into yanking her hand back.
“You don’t get to walk off!” I snap, tugging her a few inches closer to make my point damn well clear.
“I’m fucking sorry if I pissed you off back then, sorry that everything didn’t go the way you wanted.
Maybe if you talked to me instead of expecting me to read your mind, we could still be friends! ”
It’s a shit apology, coming out more angry than contrite, but I can’t deny that I mean it. Communication was always our issue, and it’s unfair to blame it all on her, but at least I’m trying now.
“Oh, we could? How fucking kind of you, Cross. You know better than that — you’ve always taken the easy road, never fought for a goddamn thing! Nothing I could have said back then would have made things go any differently.”
“Shut the fuck up, Jenny, before you piss me off.” My voice drops an entire octave as her words hit right where she was aiming.
I don’t bare my teeth, but it’s a near thing.
She knows better, saw how I grew up. I thought she understood.
“You clearly don’t know a fucking thing about what I would’ve done for you.
If you want this to be how we are these days, then so fucking be it.
I’ll stay away from you, you stay away from me. ”
I drop her wrist like I’ve been burned, the touch of her skin too much to handle right now. The words tear my throat like razors as they come out, but I’m too angry to be hurt. That’ll come later, when I can breathe again.
“Fine!” she snaps.
“Fine!” I shout right back.
We stare at each other, eyes wide and chests heaving, a million unsaid words hanging in between us.
It was never like this when we were younger.
We were never angry, not even when we couldn’t find the right words to say.
Things have changed, but now we’re stuck in this same place, and I hate that I can’t just forget all about it.
I don’t stop her this time when she turns and storms out of the barn. The door doesn’t close all the way behind her, and I stare in defeated silence until she disappears into the house again.
Guilt clogs my chest at the thought of things going differently between us. Then or now.
The blame doesn’t entirely fall on me, but I know that I could have tried harder.
She was always so certain of herself, of her plans, always knew exactly what she wanted.
I was never part of those plans, at least not when she spoke them out loud.
Leaving before she could dump me was partly self-preservation, but my biggest reason was because I was scared she’d stick around out of pity.
I was terrified of dragging her down along with me.
Parting ways seemed like the best idea back then.
Now, I wish I would have at least talked to her about it. She deserved a real answer, an honest reason.
I’m not foolish enough to delude myself into thinking she’s pissed because she wanted to stay together.
Jenny always aimed for the sky, and I’ve always kept my feet firmly on the ground, only reaching for what was easily attainable.
She was a dream come true back then, but I never let myself pretend we would be more than high school sweethearts.
I shouldn’t have made her think that it was easy for me to walk away, though.
I shouldn’t have yelled at her just now, either.
I’ve gotten better about talking since I left home. Therapy did me good while I went, and I learned a lot about myself. It’s been ages since I exploded like that, but Jenny’s always been good at riling me up.
And tonight was just one thing after another.
I huff a breath out through my nose and turn the feed room light off before heading back toward my trailer, my mind whirling with confusion and anger. It’s probably best to just shower and go the hell to sleep, but I can’t stop my thoughts from winding back around to Jenny.
Even as I strip and go through the motions of getting the shower ready, all I can think about is her.
She’s not wrong about me taking the easy road when given the option, but I’ve never seen any reason to make life harder on myself.
Growing up the way I did was rough enough — always home alone while Dad worked himself to the bone just to keep the power on, TV dinners and studying sessions made pointless by the neighbors either screaming or partying.
The only solace I had back then was Jenny.
It didn’t get easier when I left, either.
My grades were always mediocre, but I had to work my ass off just to keep them at the bare minimum to keep my scholarship.
Every game ended with an injury, and they only got worse as time went on.
When my ACL finally tore, it meant the death of my football career before I’d even really gotten started.
Medical bills piled up, I lost my scholarship, wound up in bumfuck, Utah with nothing to fall back on.
If Dad hadn’t gotten sick, I’d probably still be there, stocking shelves at the grocery store and wasting my life away.
I thought things might be better here, but I’m as useless on the ranch as I’ve always been at everything. Everett’s keeping me around to handle the grunt work, but there’s no guarantee of how long that’ll last. He’s only doing it out of pity and whatever he feels like he owes my dad, anyway.
I shake my head sharply, meeting my own eyes in the fog of the mirror, and sternly tell myself to stop fucking thinking.
It’s not helping anything, and I don’t have unlimited hot water.
It’s not like I can just sit her down and tell her all of this, either. It wouldn’t make any difference now.
Stepping into the shower doesn’t feel as cathartic as usual, my mind still spinning despite my resolution to turn it off. I focus intently on the feeling of water beating down on my shoulders, the humid air, the minty smell of my three-in-one as I start to scrub sweat and dirt off my skin.
It doesn’t smell as good as Jenny’s shampoo did. It won’t make my hair as soft and silky as hers was under my fingers.
I squirt out another dollop and lather it in my hair, vindictively ignoring that train of thought. Jenny’s made it quite clear that she’s got plenty of issues with me, and I’ve got enough going on without adding that powder keg to the mix.
I don’t have to understand what’s going on in her to understand that I’m not wanted.
Maybe she wanted me to stick around at some point, but not anymore.
I made my choices, I made my mistakes, and it’s obvious that I’ll continue to pay for them.
Any chance of having her was blown long ago, and I’m not stupid enough to think that there’s any way to win her back, even just for a fling.
I’d never be satisfied with so little. I always wanted more than she’d give me.
It’s best to just give up on the whole thing and stay away from her entirely.
I scrub my hands through my hair, tugging harder than I should in frustration. Soap runs down my face, but I’m tempted to leave my eyes open and deal with the sting of it anyway. Anything would be better than the images of Jenny that flash across my mind every time I blink.
“God fucking damnit!”
I don’t understand why I’m so hung up on this, on her.
I gave up on her once, let her go so she could chase her own dreams and not have to worry about being held back by me.
I gave up on my football career, too, when my ACL refused to heal properly.
I’ve given up on everything that’s ever really mattered to me at one point or another, and I don’t know why I can’t get her out of my head.
My plan was to be friendly. That’s it. Not to antagonize her, not to follow her around begging for scraps of attention. Certainly not to flirt with her, much less make a move like I did tonight. I wanted to leave the past behind, start over.
But the way she looks at me, like she’s lost somewhere between imagination and memory, it breaks my resolve every time.
Being so close to her in the barn may as well have been torture.
Just seeing her around is enough to send my blood rushing south these days.
I almost lost control entirely when I felt her pinned between me and the wall.
Every last bit of me wanted nothing more than her lips on mine, her body in my hands.
My cock twitches against my thigh, an entirely unhelpful suggestion in my opinion, but one I know I’ll cave into eventually.
Part of me doesn’t want to. I’m thrumming with energy, and Jenny’s invading my thoughts, and it would be an easy way to deal with how I feel right now. But I know from experience that distracting myself with sex only makes me feel worse in the long run.
I don’t fight the urge for long, though.
My cock is growing harder against my leg without my permission.
It’s not going to go down on its own, not with how little control I have over my thoughts right now.
I may as well take care of it. I won’t think about Jenny.
It’ll be as clinical as masturbation can be.
But as soon as I start, the smell of her shampoo flashes in my memory. I wrap my hand around my cock, and my entire body shakes. The first touch of skin on skin sears through me like a fucking bullet to the gut, desire ripping my breath from my lungs.
It’s not quite right—my hand is too big, too callused. Jenny’s fingers are slim and delicate. Her nails are never painted, but they are always well taken care of.
I’d sell my fucking soul to feel her hand on my cock right now.
The closest I can get is closing my eyes, tipping my head back against the wall of the cramped shower stall, and letting my imagination run wild.
It’s all too easy to conjure up an image of her in my mind, pretty brown eyes locked on mine as a smirk twists her perfect pink lips.
She’d tease me ruthlessly if she ever knew how close I already am, nothing but my fucking hand and a half-formed fantasy, the scent of her shampoo still lingering in my mind.
I’ll probably be ashamed of myself later, but all I can do is bite my lip to muffle what I refuse to admit is a whimper.
I twist my palm around the head of my cock, seeking out every spot that makes my head spin with pleasure.
It’s only ever like this when I think about Jenny, although I’d never admit that out loud, either.
My body never reacts like this to anything else my imagination — or the internet — can conjure up, pleasure a knife’s blade up my spine.
Hell, most of the people I’ve fucked didn’t make me cum as fast as a single thought about Jenny can.
No one’s ever made me feel like she does, no matter what the context.
I don’t want to think about that now, though, not when my thighs are shaking and I can still recall the exact way her pupils pinned when I slid my knee between her legs.
If she hadn’t pushed me away, I’d have dragged her hips forward, made her grind against me until she was whining and begging for it.
Would’ve dug my teeth into her throat and felt every moan before the sounds reached my ears, made her mine.
My cock throbs in my hand at the thought, at the barest hint of tea I tasted on her lips before she shoved me back.
I can almost still taste it on my lips, bitter and oversteeped, just how she always liked it.
Fuck, fuck.
I gasp in humid air, wishing desperately for the scrape of blunt nails on my thighs, for Jenny’s sweet voice in my ears. The thought is enough to send me over.
My orgasm slams into me, vicious and sharp, dragging me over the edge by the throat.
All I can do is pant my way through it, my cock throbbing as I paint the tiles with cum.
I stroke myself, slow and steady, drawing it out just to bask in the pleasure for a little longer, to pretend I don’t feel guilty.
Dirty.
I grit my teeth as I rush through the rest of my shower, forcefully keeping my mind blank. I don’t want to think of Jenny, or my desires, or the pain of losing her.
I don’t want to think about anything.
I just want to lay down and go the fuck to sleep and forget about all of this.
Maybe it’ll be easier in the morning.