Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
LOOKS LIKE WRESTLING TO ME.
Griffin
“You know, showing up thirty minutes early doesn’t mean you get to have drinks on the house before your shift.”
“I know,” Tucker says with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “You’re giving me exactly one on the house because I’m your favorite cousin.”
“You’re my only cousin,” I deadpan.
“Good point.”
I move to pour him a beer on tap. I know Tucker isn’t stupid enough to get drunk when he’s at work. Not once has he even accepted a shot when the ladies come in and beg him to take one with him. But I know he’s been outside working all day and could probably use this.
“How was work?” I say, sliding the glass in front of him.
He shakes his head. “Annoying. I feel like we’re moving at snail’s speed to build those houses up on the east side of town.”
Bluestone Lakes has a ton of empty land. We’re in no rush to grow it, even if he wants the projects to move quicker. Even if I hate the idea of more people coming into town and moving here, our businesses need it.
I need customers .
Lily needs customers.
Tucker needs construction work.
“I give it another year before Poplar Street is done,” Tucker says after taking a sip of his beer.
“Poppy will be happy when she gets her street back.”
“I don’t blame her. I’m ready to tackle Redwood Avenue, though. In my opinion, that road has the best views in town. I can only imagine the houses we can build there. If I can afford it before we start, I’m definitely building my dream home there.”
He’s not wrong.
Redwood Avenue curves around the side of a mountain. If you find just the right spot, you can see a spectacular view of the mountains on one side and the heart of Bluestone Lakes on the other. But the best part—our actual lake—sits right in the middle. If I wasn’t already building my home at the time where I was, that’s the exact spot I would have chosen too.
“You will do it,” I say. “Slow and steady.”
“You know I’m way too antsy of a person for slow and steady, Griff. I need to move.” He lifts his hands in front of him, wiggling his fingers. “My hands need to work their magic.”
I stare at him, unblinking.
“They are magic hands, Griffin Barlow. You should know this,” he defends.
“No, I shouldn’t.”
“I can show you someday.” He winks.
“On that note, I’m heading out,” I say, tossing the dish rag on the counter.
“You got it, boss.” He salutes.
Rolling my eyes, I grab the keys to my truck from the kitchen. Whenever it’s time for me to leave, I always rush out of here as fast as I can before I get stuck talking to a customer or listening to issues about something.
Not many people rush to leave one job to go to another.
But not many people own a ranch like mine.
The anticipation of spending the evening in my own personal serenity to relax and unwind forces me to hustle out of there. Even if it’s not a relaxing job, it’s quiet for me. Feeding the horses, taking them for a ride, and catching a glimpse of the sunset is what I live for. Today is no different. The skies are blue, and the weather is on the warmer side. Rolling my windows down, I let the breeze hit my face on my quick drive home to drop off the stuff I picked up from the General Store before heading to work.
It’s moments just like this that make me wonder what my life would be like if I left and moved to the city.
Imagine missing this?
No fucking thank you.
I turn onto my street, eager to get changed, and head to the ranch.
I purposely avoid looking at Blair’s house. But something catches my eye, forcing me to do a double take and slow the truck down. She’s standing on the side of the house in a pair of hot pink rain boots, jean shorts, and a sweatshirt. Some of her hair pulled to the top of her head and the rest flying in every direction.
“What in the world is she doing?” I ask myself.
My eyes scan the area, and I spot her mutt sitting on the grass near her. He’s got his legs out, head resting on the grass and his eyes closed. Clearly unfazed by what’s happening, as if he’s used to this type of behavior.
Movement causes me to snap my head back in her direction.
Is she…is she fighting a hose?
She’s wrangling the hose like she’s a firefighter on her first day. Water is flying in every direction while she attempts to straddle it between her legs.
Throwing my truck in park in the middle of the road, I sit there for a moment wondering if I should even bother. I should keep driving straight home and not help her. I don’t need her to think I care more than I do .
Reluctantly, I decide to get out of the truck before I march over to where she’s fighting the water.
I can’t believe this is happening right now.
That’s when I notice it’s not just a hose, it’s a power washer. Blair is power washing her house. Or, at least trying to. I’m now glad I got out of the truck because she’s going to ruin the siding on the house if she keeps this up.
“What are you doing?” I shout over the loud buzzing of the power washer.
It’s a piece of shit one if you ask me.
Where the hell did she even get this?
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she shouts back, using every part of her body to get it under control. Water sprays in every direction, and across my flannel causing me to startle from the sting of pressure. She even manages to get the dog wet. Of course, it doesn’t move because it’s far enough away to avoid the force of it.
My arms fly out as I look down in shock at my now drenched shirt before looking back up at her.
She finally lets it fall to the ground, stomping a pink boot on it to keep it down, and flips the power off on the machine. She looks up at me, brushing her hands over the top of her head and schooling her features. “I’m power washing,” she says casually.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I shoot her a skeptical glare. “Looks like wrestling to me.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Just getting used to it. That’s all. I’ve…uh…never done this before.” Her gaze trails my body. “Sorry about your shirt.” She shrugs again, but this time without an ounce of remorse in her tone.
Rolling my eyes, I stomp toward her. The same damn energy from the last time I was this close to her rips through me. The sting from the force of the water is quickly replaced with a burning feeling behind my ribcage. I don’t have time to register the feeling completely because her eyes widen at my sudden movements when I reach down between her legs to rip the hose from under her boot. My forearm brushes against the bare skin sitting above her boot and I almost fumble the hose between my fingers from the electric zing I just felt along my arm. I fight like hell to ignore it despite the way my heart begins to race, holding the hose up in my hands with ease.
She looks from my face to my arms where I hold the hose. The way her eyes burn my skin worse than the water pisses me off, forcing me to grip the hose tighter. Her lips part slightly before she brings her bottom lip between her teeth.
“That’s really annoying how you got control of that so easily,” she says to me but is still looking at my grip on the hose.
“It’s not hard.”
“Oh, yes, it is,” she mumbles under her breath, still not meeting my stare.
Turning around to assess the machine she got; I notice rather quickly that it really is a hunk of garbage. I can’t believe she bought this. I shake my head as I tighten the hose and turn it back on.
“Give it back,” she demands. “I need to finish this before the sun sets.”
White knuckling the hose between my fingers, I want to be a dick and let her fight this hose for all hours of the night. I really do. But I’m a selfish bastard and don’t want to hear the machine buzzing, along with her screams, all night long.
“I got it,” I tell her.
“No,” she practically shouts. “I want to do this.”
“Why?” I ask, curious about the quick change in tone.
“Because.”
One word before something washes over her, I can’t quite figure out. It looks like pain and hurt. Lily told me she’s been through some shit. I never asked Lily more because I don’t want to know. It’s not my right to know.
It might just make me want to be nice.
“I just want to do this, okay?” she adds. Her tone is much softer and less demanding .
The rapid change solidifies my theory.
Something has definitely happened in her past. But what?
Fuck . Now I’m here and I want to know.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says, ripping the hose from my hand. “I need to wrestle this hose some more and get this side of the house done.”
I look from the hose to her face, unable to say anything back while the aching in my chest intensifies. But her whiskey eyes plead with me to give her this chance.
“If you insist.”
“I do.” She nods.
Avoiding further conversation, I turn around and make my way to the truck. I refuse to look back at her house as I put it in drive, ready to get back to my house.
Everything about that doesn’t feel right.
It feels off.
Which is making me feel off.
I’m not someone who’s supposed to care like this. I’m not someone who’s supposed to be curious about the city girl.
I skip going to the ranch for the first time in as long as I can remember to sit on my porch and wonder more about her as she successfully gets control of the hose and finishes the one side of her house.
I give up when the sun hides behind the mountain.
But when my head finally hits the pillow at night, my only thoughts are of her.