Jameson
Ifeel like a shithead after last night, and I don’t know why. I’m always a little mean to Dixon. He gives me shit back, and that’s it. But now, last night isn’t sitting well with me.
I’m shoveling shit out of the barn on my Saturday and thinking about Garrison Dixon. Just great. Life is really going well for me.
I’m hot and sweaty, sick of this goddamn farm life, when I hear tires crunching on the gravel outside.
The rest of the family is at the farmers’ market, so I have no idea who it could be.
I lean the shovel against the barn wall and walk outside, instantly annoyed when I see Dixon climbing out of his truck.
Fuck.
“No.”
He closes the door to his truck and walks toward me, not at all bothered by my threatening tone.
He looks too damn good in a pair of worn jeans and a tight t-shirt.
His tennis shoes are dirty, but there aren’t any holes in them.
I swear the fucker wears his shoes until they’re falling apart most of the time.
And yeah, I hate that I know that about him, but you notice things over the years when you live in a small town like Kensley. “Why are you here?”
“I don’t know.” He runs his hand through his shaggy-ass blond hair, and I hate that I watch the tight muscles in his arms flex as he does this. It really pisses me off how good-looking he is. Biggest pain in the ass ever, and he’s drop-dead gorgeous.
“Then get back in your truck and leave.”
“No.” He stands there, set in stone, and I could kill him. I really could. I feel bad about last night, but that doesn’t mean I want to talk to him.
“Look, I have work to do. My dad will kick my ass if I don’t have the barn cleaned out and the fence fixed before he gets home. I don’t have time for this.” I turn around and walk back into the barn, not at all surprised when I hear his footsteps follow me.
I grab the shovel and start to work again, pissed-off, but I also can’t get what he said last night out of my mind—when he said he has an idea what it’s like to hold onto a secret like mine. Maybe he has his own secrets. But it felt . . . similar in some way.
I don’t like it.
Not at all.
I don’t want to connect with him. I don’t want to know his secrets, and I hate that he knows mine.
“I’m sorry I told you to choke on it last night. And I shouldn’t be here today, I know that. But dammit, I need you to listen to me.”
I hear the desperation in his tone and can’t ignore it. I stop what I’m doing and look at him, shovel in hand. “What, Dixon? What do you need to say that you haven’t said already?”
“Look, I know that you hate it was me who saw you with Travis that night.” I open my mouth to argue but can’t get one word out before he continues, “I get that. I do. We aren’t exactly enemies—at least, I never thought so—but we aren’t friends either.
Still, it’s none of my business, and I’m not going to say anything.
I don’t get why you won’t just believe me. ”
“Because you have a big fucking mouth,” I say honestly, and I’m surprised when he winces at that.
I thought Dixon was proud of being a loudmouth.
Nothing ever seems to faze the guy. He’s loud and larger-than-life.
He always has been. And damn it, he’s charming.
To most people. When Dixon tells a story, people listen.
Because they want to hear it. Because he’s excited, and he tells a good story.
And that’s what terrifies me about him having that knowledge about me.
“I do not.”
“You do. You told everyone about the time Oakley and you were at that rock-climbing place and his pants ripped.”
“Yeah, the fucker wasn’t wearing underwear, and guess who was climbing right under him. That shit was funny.”
I point at him. “Exactly. You thought it was funny, and you told the whole school about it.”
He looks pissed-off as he walks closer to me.
“First of all, it was funny. Oakley and his big bare ass right in my face. I was tortured that day and had to laugh. Second, he thought it was funny too, and that’s our friendship.
We give each other shit.” He stops when his feet hit mine.
“But what happened between you and Travis, that shit wasn’t funny. And it’s no one’s business.”
I square my shoulders, annoyed by him suddenly being logical. “I know that, but I didn’t think you knew that. There are plenty of assholes at our school who’d think it’s funny. And something to torment us with.”
Bile rises in my throat, thinking about those assholes. How being gay is somehow a joke in this small town. How it’s an insult thrown around. “That’s them. Not me. I don’t find it funny, and I don’t think anyone needs to know about it unless you want them to.”
He looks more serious than I’ve ever seen him. And now, I feel like even more of an asshole about last night. “You mean that, don’t you?”
He looks exasperated, sighing heavily. “Yeah. I do. That’s what I was trying to tell you, but you’re a stubborn jackass.”
I frown. “You do like to talk a lot, Dixon.”
He shrugs his big-ass shoulders at that, putting his hands in his pockets.
“So? I’m social, but I’m not nearly as much of an asshole as you think I am.
” He removes one hand from his pocket and grips the back of his neck, looking almost shy.
“I’m sorry I messed things up with you and Travis. That he’s not talking to you.”
“Me too. But . . .” It pains me to admit this. “It wasn’t all you. I shouldn’t have kissed him.”
He cocks his head to the side, looking perplexed. “Why not?”
I groan, and then shake my head with a laugh. “I’m not going into that with you.”
I notice he’s smiling too when my eyes settle on his again. “You laughed.” He laughs too. “Damn, I haven’t heard that sound from you, like, ever.”
I roll my eyes and go back to shoveling. “That’s because you’re not funny.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m growing on you, Bates. Just you wait.”
“Not gonna happen, Dixon.” I nod my head in the direction of the barn door. “Why don’t you get out of here while you’re on a semi-high note?”
He drops his hand from his neck and starts to the exit. “All right, fine. If you really don’t want my help. My mom probably has breakfast waiting for me anyway.”
“Go feed your fat ass, Dixon,” I tease.
And the fucker actually shakes his ass at me, tossing me a wink over his shoulder. “My ass is far from fat.” My eyes go there without my permission, hating how unbelievably firm and perfect his ass actually is. “See?”
His voice is smooth as silk and amused, and my eyes snap up from his ass to his face when I’m caught ogling him. “Get out of here.”
He chuckles at that, grinning like a fool before he walks out of the barn, and I hear him pull out of the drive.
I go back to shoveling, turning the conversation over again in my head and shaking my head at my own damn self.
I hate that he might not be as awful as I thought.