Chapter 2
Hunter Twenty Minutes Earlier
Y eah, sure as shit, that was Devyn.
Did she recognize me?
I can’t seem to shake the feeling that she didn’t. I shouldn’t give two shits what the Farmhouse Barbie Doll thinks about me, anyway. And I don’t.
She made her choice long ago. As did I.
My chest burns, memories ripping from within my heart with just one look at her eyes. There was a time in my life when I had different ideas about my best friend’s little sister.
There was a time when we were different. But everything can change in one single breath.
I thought she’d be better off in the city. With fame and stability. Away from people like me.
But the way she is now? She’s either faking it for her image, or she’s gone completely. Because the Devyn I see on the television each night, the one in the Internet photos I swear I won’t search…she isn’t the girl I knew. And that’s the same one I just saw on the street, glued to her phone, taking selfies, fixing her hair in her camera. Wearing that dress.
Why the hell she thinks she’s allowed to walk the streets of the city wearing a hot pink loincloth is beyond me, but there’s a strict brother’s best friend code that I’m going to have to abide by, or so I tell myself as I snap a quick picture of her and send it to Dusty.
HUNTER : What the fuck is Dev wearing?
DUSTY : Where are you?
HUNTER : On a corner. In the city.
DUSTY : What is she doing wearing THAT?
HUNTER : Dunno, but I wouldn’t want MY sister wearing things like that in front of guys like me.
DUSTY : You don’t have a sister.
HUNTER : I could have your sister.
DUSTY : And you could have two less balls.
middle finger emoji
A grin forms on my lips. He’s too easy.
A horn blares, rattling the insides of my ears as exhaust blows in my face, and I’m instantly reminded why I hate the city. It’s the constant noise. You don’t hear that in Pine Forest. We have our share of noises out there. But it’s crickets, cicadas, maybe roosters. All that stuff’s supposed to be there. None of this sensory overload bullshit. If it weren’t for the corporate sponsorships Classy Country could bring to my youth farming program, I wouldn’t be within fifty miles of the stench of this place. Factories and ATMs on every corner. It’s like the whole world’s forgotten how to live with the land instead of consuming it.
I stumble on the corroded sidewalk beneath my feet for the third or fourth time, and I shake my head at myself, feeling right stupid for poking fun at Devyn being glued to her phone earlier when I’m distracted by mine right now.
Looking at her picture. Fuck. I shove my phone in my pocket because I do not need to be looking at that .
Seeing her always has this effect on me. And it’ll undoubtedly be weeks before I get the image of her in that dripping pink fabric out of my mind.
I didn’t mean to run into her and send her coffee flying through the air, but I can’t say I regret it much, because even though it must have been scalding hot—judging by the scream of the older woman who was doused with some of it—Devyn had just enough fire under her skin to ignore the burn and cast me a glare that could damn me to hell right where I stood, those green eyes blazin’ somethin’ fierce.
And with them, a fire I thought was long gone.
I just stood there, stunned, unable to move as the wet dress clung to her tight little body like a candy wrapper, and that is so fucking far from being an appropriate thought I had to drag my eyes from her and walk away. As far away from her as possible. As fast as humanly fucking possible.
Because Devyn is complicated. She’s bratty, spoiled, self-centered, and half the time she’s so far stuck up her own ass she can’t see in front of her face. She pushes my buttons, gets under my skin, and fuck, she’s like a human version of water torture, ya know? She’s just there…drip, drip, drip, drown, repeat.
Devyn is an addiction.
If you don’t have her for a while, you can detox, forget she exists, move on.
Even if the taste of her never does quite leave your lips.
But I’ve slipped up now. I’ve seen Devyn. I’ve seen the fire still burning in her stare. The one that tells me maybe she isn’t all bubblegum pop and Prada like she leads the masses to believe.
My girl is still in there somewhere, and I can’t unsee her.
I grind my teeth as my boots pound against the pavement in the opposite direction of where I need to be going, breathing, and reminding myself of reality. It’s been ten years since we did this dance, and I know I shouldn’t wrap myself up in that kind of thing with her again. Especially with the way things are now. What my life has become. It feels like a knife slicing through me with that realization, but it’s true.
What we once had is forever gone. I made sure of that. And her presence in my life wouldn’t only affect me this time.
That doesn’t change the ache in my chest when I see the spark in her eyes again.
Because Devyn Lynn is and always was two things.
Off limits. And mine.