Chapter 6 Trey
Trey
May
Trey
I fixed the dryer. I’ll throw a load in for you.
Jessie
Touch my underwear and I’ll strangle you with them.
Trey
Kinky, I like it ;)
Jessie has avoided me like the plague the last two weeks. I don’t know if the amount of shifts she’s working is her normal schedule or if she’s taking extra to get out of the house. Either way, Kacey was right—she works insane hours.
It’s not like I’ve been much better. Between hanging out at the ranch, going to the gym, and hiding in my room playing Xbox, I’ve avoided her as well.
My back is feeling way better since the steroids the doctor prescribed, and I’ve started light exercise and PT at the gym. I’m still not close to being able to ride, but daily life is mostly pain-free, and I’m confident I’ll be back by the Fourth of July run of rodeos.
I roll over and tap my phone, checking the time.
Eight o’clock in the morning. Jessie should be home by now.
She’s back on night shifts this week and normally off at 7 a.m. I thought after a few weeks of living together, things wouldn’t be so awkward, but boy, was I wrong.
I feel like an outsider who’s making her uncomfortable in her own home, and I hate it.
The few times we have been in the same room for longer than a minute or two have been suffocatingly silent.
Except for the time I did her laundry or touched her underwear, as she called it.
That time, she yelled. I was just trying to be helpful, but she got really mad and I got really horny. That probably didn’t help.
I’ve been trying to stay busy. After I fixed her car, I started working on the house, mostly small things that don’t cost much and she might not even notice, but I need something to do. Or someone to do. I’m bored and aroused. I open my dating app and start swiping.
No . . .
No.
A redhead . . . Ugh, no.
I close the app. There is only one freckled face, one curvy body, one wildly beautiful woman who haunts my fantasies every night. And I’m forced to fist my cock in the shower.
I’ve never lived with a woman. I was hoping my infatuation with her would go away if we lived together.
Unfortunately, it’s done the opposite. I understand why her little sleep shorts that her ass peeks out of turn me on, but I never dreamed Jessie in scrubs would, too.
I discovered this last week as I sat at the kitchen table hiding my boner.
I am so fucked.
I throw on gym clothes and hit the bathroom before heading to the kitchen. When I reach the living room, I stop in my tracks. Jessie is asleep on the couch, fully dressed, including her shoes. It must have been a busy night at the ER, and she was too tired to make it to bed.
She’s lying face down with her head cranked around to the side in a way that cannot be comfortable. I grab a throw blanket off the back of the couch and lay it over her. She doesn’t stir.
I don’t want to disturb her, but I’m unsure what to do.
If I do anything in the kitchen, it will wake her.
I spot a book on the floor that must have fallen out of her giant-ass tote bag.
I’m surprised she’s not the one with back issues.
Picking it up, I sit on the couch and thumb the pages until I see a line that catches my eye.
“You’re such a good girl, taking my cock so deep.”
I bite my cheek, shaking with a silent laugh. What is this woman reading? I keep going. I am going to give her so much shit about this.
An hour later, Jessie stirs. Her eyes flare wide when she sees me on the couch reading her book. She bolts up—red hair flying—grasping for it, but I hold it out of her reach.
“Morning, Hawkins. Have a nice nap?” I beam.
She scowls. “Give me that. It’s not yours.”
“Shh, I’m reading. I pump in and out of her, as her orgasm builds,” I mock read, “with intense pleasure, and a rush of neurochemicals like dopamine and oxytocin.” I’m making it all up. The page I’m on has the main characters walking through the park.
Jessie fights a laugh. “Spell neurochemicals.”
Now I can’t help but laugh. “Come on, I’ll make breakfast before you go to bed.”
I shut the book and hold it out to her.
She snatches it with a renewed glare, stuffing it back into her Mary Poppins bag. “You better not have broken the spine or lost my spot.”
I push off the couch. “Don’t worry, Hawkins. I took great care of it. Your smut was in good hands.”
“It’s called cliterature, and you skipped everything but smut, didn’t you?”
I throw my head back laughing. Cliterature? “Of course I did. I had to find the good stuff, expand my vocabulary and what not.”
She follows me into the kitchen. “You don’t have to make me breakfast.”
“I know I don’t.”
I’m stirring eggs, ham, and cheese together on the stove when she enters the kitchen. Damp hair falls around her shoulders, smelling of rose and vanilla. She sits at the table with a huff.
“Long night?”
“Long life.”
I snort. “What made you want to be a nurse, anyway?”
She fiddles with the saltshaker, quiet for several seconds.
When she speaks, her voice is raw, tired.
“I like helping people, especially the people who don’t have anyone to help them.
Working in the ER is where you see the worst of it—the terrified, broken, and sometimes even the dying.
The days I can really make a difference in someone’s life are the best days.
” She stops fiddling with the saltshaker, and her gaze drifts to mine.
“There aren’t many people like you anymore. You’re a dying breed, Hawkins. The hospital is lucky to have you. I’ve seen the inside of a few ERs and can say not every nurse has that level of passion for their work.”
Her delicate lips pull into a small smile. “I thought cowboys were the last of a dying breed.”
“Well, yeah. We are, too. I guess people like us are dying out.” I dished some eggs onto a plate for her. “How old were you when you decided to go to nursing school?”
I expect her to say junior year or around that age. When she answers, “Ten,” I almost choke on my sip of coffee. “That young? What prompted that?”
She considers the question for a moment.
No doubt weighing how far she’s willing to let me in.
“A year after I moved in with Gran, I broke my ankle climbing a tree and had to go to the ER. As I sat in that hospital bed, I watched all the nurses helping everyone, and mine was so nice to me. She brought me snacks and stickers and made a scary situation almost fun. I decided right then that’s what I wanted to do. ”
Wow. I don’t know much about Jessie’s past. Knox and Kacey refuse to tell me anything—they say they’re staying out of it. But if she moved in with Dot when she was nine, what were the first nine years of her life like?
“When did you start riding bulls?”
I don’t dispute the topic change. This is the first real conversation we’ve had since I moved in.
“I started when I was sixteen, against my parents’ wishes.
A friend of mine from school had practice bulls and his own arena.
I snuck over to his place and started getting on. I’ve been doing it ever since.”
“Of course you snuck around.” She rolls her eyes.
The corner of my mouth lifts and I say, “Well, my parents wanted me to go into the family business: insurance.”
She wrinkles her nose at that.
I laugh. “My thoughts exactly. I got on practice bulls until I was eighteen, then I moved out and joined the professional association. Got my ass handed to me the first couple years, but I figured it out as I went.”
“How’d your parents take that?” she asks before taking another bite of her breakfast.
“They haven’t exactly been supportive. We still talk every once in a while, and I visit during the holidays. I have two older sisters I keep in touch with. They think it’s cool that I ride, but we don’t really have anything in common, so we’ve never been close.”
“Of course you’re the baby of the family. So many things about you make sense now.”
“Hey, now,” I laugh. “Being the baby of the family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. They are a lot older than me. I was alone a lot.”
“I know the feeling,” she says so quietly I’m not sure if I was meant to hear.
I don’t question her. I want us to stop avoiding each other.
I like talking to her. The more I learn about her, the more I want to know her—and that’s a problem.
I’ve never slowed down enough to stick around and get to know someone, and as much as I want Jessie, I know I won’t be around long.
The more I think about it, Knox is right: catching feelings for her before the summer run is probably a horrible idea.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been one to shy away from horrible ideas.
“So, were you climbing the tree or falling out of the tree?” This question earns me an annoyed look. Mission accomplished.
I like needling Jessie. Her sharp tongue might be my favorite thing about her.