Chapter 17 #2
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” My tongue drags across my teeth, temper flaring. “You were flirting with that woman.”
His jaw ticks. “Not everything I do revolves around you.”
“Oh, yeah?” I shoot back. “You just happened to flirt with the woman at the stall directly across from mine?”
Troy throws his hands up, exasperated. “I don’t know what you want from me, man. You’ve made it clear we’re just business partners. Who I choose to flirt with—or sleep with—is none of your goddamn business.”
Anger twists in my chest. Before I can stop myself, I step closer, closing the space between us until we’re nearly chest to chest. He doesn’t retreat. If anything, he looks entertained, confidence etched into every line of his annoyingly handsome face.
“Because we’re business partners,” I say, voice low, “your reputation as a guy who sleeps around with everyone is my business.”
His mouth quirks. “Is it?”
“Yes. You gotta knock it off, Troy,” I snarl. “Maybe things were different for you in Chicago, but this is a conservative town.”
One eyebrow lifts. “So you’re upset about my reputation,” he says slowly, “not because you’re jealous?”
My hands tighten into fists. “I’m not jealous.”
“No?” His voice drops, teasing and deliberate. “So you wouldn’t care if I let Stephanie suck my cock—”
I shove him, my palms slamming into his shoulders. He stumbles back a step before catching himself, staring at me now with something sharper than surprise—interest flickering behind his eyes. My chest heaves, breath tearing from my lungs in hot, angry bursts.
Troy lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice smooth and maddeningly smug. “If you wanted me all to yourself, you could’ve just said so.”
My molars grind together. “That’s not—”
“You want me,” Troy says, cutting in gently but firmly. “Admit it.”
A shaky breath slips past my lips. “I can’t.”
It’s the truth. I can’t want him. It’s selfish, irresponsible, and dangerous. Pursuing whatever this is with him could jeopardize not only my future, but my entire family’s.
His hand lands on my bicep, squeezing lightly. Every instinct tells me to pull away, to put space between us—but instead, I lean into his touch, my resolve crumbling. My eyes flutter shut as I register the heat of his palm, the roughness of his skin, the sun draping over us like a warm blanket.
“Ash,” he murmurs. “I don’t know if I can continue this business partnership—not if we’re going to pretend there’s nothing between us. It’s… too difficult for me to act like I don’t have feelings for you.”
My eyes snap open. “You… have feelings for me?”
A smile twitches his lips. “I mean, yeah,” he says dryly. “Thought that was obvious when I sucked your dick.”
I shrug, staring down at the sand as I nudge it around with my boot. “I thought you were just… horny, I guess.”
Troy’s fingers hook under my chin, lifting until I have no choice but to look at him. Warm brown eyes hold mine, framed by long, dark lashes. His expression softens into something vulnerable and unguarded—so different from the enigmatic mask he usually wears.
“Despite what you might think,” he says slowly, “I’m not heartless.”
Guilt twists sharp in my stomach. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” he says gently, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“I just don’t want you thinking you’re some kind of conquest to me.
You’re not.” His throat bobs, the snake tattoo twitching on his tan skin.
“You’re kind. You’re smart. You work harder than anyone I know.
I respect the hell out of you—and I like you so much it scares me. ”
My throat burns, sharp and raw, like razors scraping their way up. I can’t believe someone like him—confident, magnetic, talented—could want me. He could have anyone. Someone uncomplicated. Someone whose last name doesn’t come with rules and expectations and baggage.
So why me?
I tilt my head, nudging his hand away from my face. The contact is too much, suddenly overwhelming. “Troy, I’m not—” The words tangle and freeze under my tongue, useless and heavy.
“Not what?” he asks quietly. “Not into men?”
I sigh, running my fingers through my hair and tugging at the roots until it hurts. “I—I don’t know what I am.”
The admission cracks something open. My knees go weak, my head spinning, breath coming too fast. I drop down into the sand, legs stretched out in front of me, elbows braced on my thighs as I bury my face in my hands.
My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
Everything feels too loud, too bright, too much.
I’ve spent my whole life knowing exactly who I’m supposed to be. The eldest son. The successor. The responsible one. And now that identity is splintering, piece by piece, and I don’t know how to hold it together.
I feel the sand shift beside me as Troy sits down. He doesn’t crowd me. Doesn’t speak right away. Then his hands are on my face again, firm enough to anchor me.
“Ash,” he says softly. “Hey. Look at me.”
I hesitate, then force my eyes open. His gaze is steady, calm, unshaken.
“Take a breath with me,” he says. “Okay? In through your nose. Slow.”
I try. My lungs stutter, but I follow his lead.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Now breathe out. You’re safe. Nothing’s happening right now.”
Another breath. Then another. The pounding in my chest eases, just a fraction. I fix my focus on his eyes—those swirls of copper—letting everything else fall away. My fingers rake through the sand, restless.
Troy’s hand covers mine, squeezing gently. His hands are smaller than mine, but his fingers are thicker where mine are slender. His nails are tipped with chipped black polish. Silver rings glint against his skin.
“You’re okay,” he promises, his thumb brushing the side of my palm.
“I’m just…” My voice fractures, and I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the sting. “I’m so confused. And it’s all your fault.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Troy’s mouth. “Am I the first guy you’ve ever been attracted to?”
I let out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a huff of disbelief. “No.”
His brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“I mean—yeah, sure, I noticed guys before,” I admit, staring at the abstract patterns I’m drawing in the sand. “Back in high school. Some of Luke’s friends on the football team.”
The words feel poisonous on my tongue, like I’m breaking some unspoken rule by saying them out loud.
“But I never let myself think about it for real,” I continue. “It didn’t seem worth it. Not when my whole life was already planned out.” I shake my head, bitterness creeping in. “Take over the orchard. Marry a nice local girl. Have a few kids—enough to help out around the farm someday.”