10. Cravin’
Chapter 10
Cravin’
Esme
H oly fuck. Asher without a shirt on? Hot. And the fact he has his nipples pierced makes him that much hotter. I tried not to notice his dick filling out his jeans, but it was hard when it clearly outgrew the length of his hand. I wonder if that’s pierced too. I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t mind finding out. If only he wasn’t working for Phillis and Peter, then I could experiment all I want.
I need to finish my farm tour and get back inside the house. He’s funny if he thinks I’ll be outside at seven a.m. tomorrow, but I could try for around nine if I get to bed early enough. I already made my way to the chickens, until one flew up like it wanted to peck my eye out. That was a real quick no, but the horses seem to be nice. Asher introduced me to his horse, Dom, and he’s really sweet. He dozes off while I stroke his nose. His eyes are mesmerizing, a pretty shade of blue, just like the sky. Maybe he will teach me how to ride one day. I’d like to try while I’m here, I think. They’re tall, but you just have to hold on, right? Oh well, that’s an issue for another day.
I continue to wander around the property for a little while until I decide to head inside to see what’s for dinner.
Walking in, I’m immediately hit with the sound of music playing and everyone is sitting around chatting. Phillis has a glass of wine in front of her while she stirs sauce into noodles, and Peter and Asher are both sitting with a glass of whiskey. I may not know how to do this country shit, but I do know how to drink.
“What we drinkin’?” I ask. Everyone gets quiet and turns in my direction. Talk about awkward.
“Uh, whiskey?” Asher holds up the glass.
“No shit, pour me some.” They look at each other, then back at me.
“Please,” I tack on. Asher gets up and grabs a glass and a bottle, pours me a finger worth, and hands me the glass.
“Cheers,” I toast. I sip the amber liquid and groan at the taste.
“Wow, this is good,” I remark.
“Yeah, it ain’t bad,” Peter comments.
I walk over to Phillis and see what she’s cooking.
“Whatcha cookin’? Can I help at all?”
“Oh no, I got it. You can help Asher with the dishes later. I, um, I’m making your favorite. I figured it would be nice, since there’s been so much change and it’s been a rough few days. I know you guys are typically on your own, but I figured we could all come together.”
I look at her, waiting for more of an explanation.
“Well, when your father told you that he wanted you to come to Oklahoma, I talked to him earlier in the day. He told me about how he was going to have red pepper pasta made to lessen the blow.” She lets out a small laugh. “I guess I was using it to lessen the blow of you being here too. I know you’re not excited about it, but we’re glad to finally meet you and to get to spend some time with you.” She looks up at me and offers me a sad smile before taking a drink of her wine and continuing to cook dinner. I look up, trying to clear the tears from my eyes and not let them roll down my face. It got quiet, everyone unsure what to say next. It feels so weird that I’m just here living my life, and my dad is dead six feet under because someone murdered him.
“Okay,” I say, breaking the silence. I throw back the whiskey, relishing in the way it burns.
“Feels like a tequila night. Do you have any tequila?”
Asher points to the liquor cabinet beside me, and I dig through it until I’m able to find a bottle in the back.
“Much better.” I unscrew the cap and pour it into the glass.
Glass in hand, I run up to my room, close the door, sit on the bed, and cry.
* * *
I wake up sometime later, and the house is quiet.
“What the fuck?” I ask myself. I find my phone and look, it’s ten p.m.! I must have cried myself to sleep and just took a nap. Fuck, now I’m really not going to wake up on time. My stomach rumbles, and I’m reminded of why I started crying in the first place. The red noodle dish that she was going to make me just because Daddy said it was my favorite. I strip out of my current clothes and throw on a tank top with sleep shorts. I’m going for comfort, and that’s what I accomplished.
I pop my head out of my doorway and make my way downstairs. I find a note on the kitchen island:
Dinner is in the microwave, leftovers in the fridge. I didn’t mean to make you upset, I’m sorry. Enjoy the pasta, your daddy would want you to.
-Grandma
Well fuck, why does she have to be nice. I want to hate it here, but on day one, she’s gone shopping with me and has cooked me my favorite meal.
I pull the bowl from the microwave and start rummaging through drawers to find a fork.
“They’re next to the sink,” a voice echoes from the living room.
“Oh fuck!” I hiss. “You scared me. What the hell are you doing here?”
Asher is sitting on the couch with the TV on. He has a beer in one hand, and his feet are propped up on the coffee table. He holds up the beer and gives it a wiggle.
“Just a nightcap. I’ma head to bed soon, but you can come watch TV for a little while if you want some company while you eat.”
I walk over and plop down onto the couch. I pull my legs up underneath me and groan as I take my first bite.
“Damn, girl,” Asher comments, “If you moan like that eating some pasta, what do you sound like when you get fucked?” He chuckles and takes another swig of beer.
I study his face, trying to decide how much information I want to divulge. Maybe if I tell him everything, he’ll take care of my problem at some point.
“Well, I don’t know,” I confess. I really hope my plan works because if not I’m going to look so fucking stupid.
“What do you mean? Do you wear earplugs when you fuck?”
The way he says fuck so nonchalantly has me clinching my thighs. He didn’t even flinch, almost like he says it regularly. Who am I kidding, He probably has a new fling every week. He’s a good-looking guy with pierced nipples. He works on a ranch with a horse and a dog and smells like fresh-cut grass and summer and…
“So?”
I’m snapped out of my thoughts and look back at him. He’s staring at me like he’s waiting for something.
“I’m sorry what?”
“Do you wear earplugs when you fuck? How do you not know what you sound like at all?”
“Well I…I’ve…I’ve never…”
“Are you telling me you’re still a virgin?”
I see him searching my face, trying to figure out if I’m crazy or if I’m lying to him. Either way, I’m not sure how to respond. I put a bunch of noodles onto my fork and shove it into my mouth. I know I look ridiculous with chipmunk cheeks, but I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me. He makes my stomach feel all funny, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
“Well,” he fills in for me, “I’ll go ahead and take that as a yes. Things just got interesting, Princess.”
He downs the rest of his beer and stands up. “I’ll see you at seven a.m.”
I finish the rest of my pasta in peace, just the sound of the TV going to keep me company. I’m not sure what he means by interesting, but I’m not a hundred percent sure I want to find out either.