Zach
Ifeel like shit. Not surprisingly since I decide to down every beer handed to me at the dance last night, but to be honest, I don’t do that very often. Not often at all do I let my guard down.
But with my little sisters at our grandma’s last night, I knew they were safe. And when Chloe bumped into my arm, her eyes full of rage and tears as she called me a prick, I just couldn’t take it anymore.
The guilt of what I did to her is eating away at me.
I really am a prick, despite Adam refusing to believe it.
Speaking of my best friend, he’s lying next to me in bed shirtless and fast asleep without a care in the world. This is the only time when Adam looks relaxed, in sleep. That’s it.
The rest of the time, the weight of the world is on his very broad shoulders.
And yes, again, I’m a total goddamn prick because the blankets have fallen to his waist and I spend far too long letting my gaze drag over the muscles of his arms—built by backbreaking farm work and every sport imaginable in Kensley.
And then down over his firm pecs with a slight dusting of golden hair that matches the locks on his head.
Then over his chiseled abs, eight. There’s a pack of eight abs on his toned stomach.
That also has a light trail of the same golden colored hair leading from his belly button and below the sheet bunched up at his waist.
Total. Prick.
Stop ogling your best friend.
I’m still scolding myself when his phone alarm starts to go off and his hand darts out to silence it. His eyes slowly opening as he turns to look at me and damn it, he’s too beautiful to look away.
I can’t think this way about him.
I can’t.
But I can’t stop myself. Not when his blue eyes meet mine and his blond shaggy hair falls over his face—a face mind you that is the most handsome, most gorgeous face I’ve ever seen with high cut cheek bones and full red lips.
He’s perfect.
“How long have you been awake?” His voice is all grumbly and rough from sleep. It does something to me. Something that forces me to pull the blankets a little more over my crotch, hoping like hell he doesn’t notice the bulge there that is most definitely not only morning wood.
“Not long.” I answer him, willing my body to calm the hell down. This is Adam Bates. He’s not someone I’m allowed to drool over. Not at all. It’s not right. He’s my best friend. My protector. My fucking everything.
And this is how I repay him.
By ogling the shit out of him and getting hard in the bed he allowed me to sleep in last night so I didn’t have to go home to my abusive shithead of a stepfather.
“You okay?” Of course he’s concerned about me. That’s just how Adam is. Worries about everyone but himself, but especially me. He’s always watched out for me ever since we were little kids.
I highly doubt that would still be the case if he knew the perverted thoughts I have in my head about him. If he knew how often I touched myself thinking about him. How often I’ve wanted to kiss him. Just once. Taste those full, red lips.
He’d likely never want to see me again if he knew.
“I’m fine. Must we wake up at the ass crack of dawn though?” I ask, already knowing the answer. If you stay at the Bates’, you’re waking your ass up early and you’re going to do chores.
My body aches and I feel like I could vomit, my head throbbing, but I don’t mind helping them out. The Bates family has been good to me. I’d stay here more often than not if it weren’t for my sisters being stuck at home. I can’t and won’t leave them alone with Elliot for too long.
He mostly leaves them alone, a minor inconvenience, but that’s because he usually has me to knock around when he’s in one of his moods. I don’t want to think about what he’d do if I weren’t home when he’s had too much to drink and decides to be a pissed off drunk instead of a happy one.
Because he can be an overly happy drunk, but one drink too many and then he’s off. In a rage about taking on his friend’s responsibilities. Not his friend’s family. No we’re just an obligation to him.
“I can go do the chores. You should stay here and rest.” Adam stands up from the bed and my stupid, prickish, traitorous eyes go straight to bulge in his black joggers. Damn it, I’m going to hell.
I can’t keep doing this to him.
“No.” I stand up, having to close my eyes for a minute to keep myself from puking, but I can do this. I just need to rally. “It’s okay. I’m not going to let you do it all yourself.”
I open my eyes and Adam is staring at me with concern swimming in his eyes. “You can barely stand.”
“Fuck you. I’m great at standing.” I say, trying to force a smile onto my face, but I’m pretty sure I look green because I’m about to lose whatever I have left in my stomach. I sway slightly on my feet but try like hell to appear okay. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t buy it even for a second. He knows me far too well. “Lay down. I’ll go get you some water and painkillers.”
I look at his face—his perfect, chiseled jaw and stern mouth—and realize quickly I’m not winning this battle. I take a very careful and tentative seat on the edge of the bed, and he leaves the room, coming back moments later with a glass of water and ibuprofen.
I take them along with as big of a drink as I can handle. “Lay down. I’ll be back in a bit.”
His gruff tone isn’t threatening, but it does hold a hint of warning—telling me I need to listen to him. I do as he says and climb under the covers yet again, letting my eyes drift close as I try like hell not to think about Adam out there shoveling out the barns and slinging slop for the pigs.
His father will likely join him and his younger brothers, but I should be out there helping him out. He does too damn much.
He has since we were kids. Jameson, he never really cared about the farm and let it be known recently that he wanted nothing to do with it, but Adam was always different. He wants to take the farm over for his father.
Let him retire and rest. That’s his damn goal and I swear, he’s gonna kill himself trying to do that. The farm is large, and they don’t hire out. It’s just Bates and friends working the damn thing.
I groan because I feel like shit knowing they need help, and I drank myself stupid last night. Making myself useless for the day.
But I think I needed the very brief escape. Not that my life is all that damn hard, but between Chloe, my sisters, my mom and my stepfather, and a very deep secret I’m so damn tired of hiding, I was close to breaking.
I needed the break.
Not that I feel any damn better today.
I’m not sure that’s ever actually going to happen.
And I don’t think I deserve it anyway.