Chapter 14
Jessie
Iput my hands on my hips as I glare at Trey. “Absolutely not.” I swear he is suggesting the worst paint colors on purpose.
“Oh, come on. It wouldn’t look that bad.”
“It’s the color of cat puke!”
He laughs.
I point to the other wall of samples opposite us in the painting section of Home Depot. “Just . . . go over there.”
He confidently walks away, and I sneak a glance at his ass.
I’ve caught myself checking him out more than I’d like to admit lately.
We’ve been different since he held me after my nightmare.
I’ve been different. We spend almost all our free time together—cooking or going out to eat, reading, and watching TV.
He even tried to teach me how to play his dumb video game.
We argue, then argue some more. Sometimes, I swear he’s disagreeable on purpose, but then he cracks some stupid joke, and I can’t help but laugh.
He isn’t the immature playboy I thought he was. Yeah, he never takes anything too seriously, and he’s so full of life, he’s almost like a little kid. But he cares about the people around him deeply, and he shows it with his actions.
I love the way he views life—always looking on the bright side and seeing the world as one big, happy playground.
I wish I could see the world like that and forget all the hungry, sleepless nights, the overdue bills stacking up in the kitchen drawer, threats from my father, and dreams that are exactly that. Just dreams.
I’m secretly relieved Trey doesn’t seem to be going on dates or having hook-ups. He’s home every night, and even though I see his phone light up like a Christmas tree, he pays them no mind—at least when we’re together.
I pull out a blue paint chip and try to imagine my cabinets this color with the new tile floor.
“What do you think of this?” Trey asks from the other side of the paint desk.
I turn but don’t see him. “Think of what? I can’t see you.”
“That’s weird, I have light gray, medium gray, dark gray.” He’s cracking himself up by the end of his impression from The Hangover, sounding nothing like Ken Jeong.
The dude next to me chuckles.
I decide it’s too good not to play along. “You do?”
There’s a pause, like he didn’t think I’d get it or go with his bit. “Man, I forgot. My bad, I’m color blind.” He laughs the entire time.
The guy next to me is laughing so hard he might give himself a hernia.
I don’t know if it’s the guy next to me, the confused old woman behind the paint desk, or the quote itself, but I can’t hold it together any longer. I slap my hand over my mouth, muffling my laugh.
Trey appears with the biggest lopsided grin on his face. His blue eyes shine like he may have laughed so hard his eyes watered. “We are so having a movie night.” He throws an arm over my shoulders. “We have to watch The Hangover and eat junk food.”
“Alright, alright, after you get back from your big, fancy photoshoot.” His eyes roam my face as I hold up the steel blue paint chip. “This one.”
He smiles down at me. “I love it. Let’s do it.” His eyes never leave mine.
An hour later, we have all our supplies and paint. The smell of coffee beans and baked goods hits me as we walk into The Plot Twist for a coffee before starting our project. Trey is going on about some bull Knox rode last night as we reach the counter.
Lainey and her boyfriend are toward the back of the coffee bar canoodling, but she steps away to greet us. “Hey, you two. Need a caffeine fix?”
“Yeah, our usuals, please. Did you get that new release?”
“Yep, it’s right here. I already finished it. It’s so good, you’ll love it.” I’m lucky my sweet friend lets me borrow all the new releases she keeps for herself. I could never afford to purchase every single book I read. Lainey is pretty much my personal library.
She passes me the book and taps our order into the computer. I move down the counter to wait for our coffee as Trey wanders, aimlessly browsing the bookshelves.
“Hey,” I say, loud enough he’ll hear.
He faces me.
I point to the other side of the shelves. “Picture books are that way.”
“Like you would know. All you read is cliterature.” He gives me a flirty grin.
Lainey comes over with one coffee and whispers, “So, I have to ask: how are things living with the world’s hottest bachelor bull rider?”
“Shh, don’t let him hear you. His head is big enough as it is.” We both snicker. “It’s shockingly good. He talked me into painting the kitchen cabinets. We picked up the paint today.”
“Aw, Jessie, that’s so exciting. You’ve been wanting to work on that house since you bought it. I’m happy for you.” She smiles. “You work so much, you deserve it.”
Ding!
The bell above the door signals the arrival of a new customer.
Lainey turns and smiles in greeting. “Hi, Officer Holmes. How are you today?”
I stiffen, hardly glancing his way. Police officers always make me uncomfortable.
Every single officer in this county knows who my father is, and they can’t stand him.
It’s nothing out of the norm when Holmes registers who I am and gives me a sharp look.
I move to the side while he orders and takes a seat.
I don’t blame them—I’m Daryl Hawkins’s daughter and I’m sure he’s one of Cottonwood Valley’s most wanted.
Lainey passes his order to a barista before returning to our conversation.
“What about you? How’s your fancy businessman boyfriend?” I ask her, casting a quick look back at him. He’s wearing a suit and has been on his phone since she walked away.
She blushes. “It’s good, things are good. We’ve been dating since this winter, but we’re taking it slow.”
“Good, I’m happy for you. He better treat you right, or I’ll kick him in the dick,” I say just loud enough I know he’ll hear me.
“Who are we kicking in the dick?” Trey asks as he walks up and steals my coffee.
I snatch it back. “Touch my coffee again, and it’ll be your dick.”
He cringes. “Easy, Hawkins. I’ve got rave reviews from women in fifteen states.”
“Gross, I don’t need the details of your buckle bunny sexcapades.”
“Have I ever told you how I used to show bunnies in FFA?” he asks as Lainey hands him his coffee.
“No, and I’d like to keep it that way.” I grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him out of the coffee shop. I call goodbye to Lainey over my shoulder, carefully avoiding looking in the officer’s direction.
“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it,” Trey argues as I brush paint onto the door.
He removed all the doors and drawer faces and sanded them down while I was at work the other day.
His back has been feeling better, and he’s going stir-crazy, so he was excited to have something to do all day.
Now, all that’s left is to paint them. We have everything covered in plastic and the cabinet doors propped up on sawhorses.
“Yes, it is.”
“No, Barbra said—”
“Enough about Barbra! Unless she’s going to come paint these cabinets herself, I don’t want to hear it,” I snap, pointing my paint-covered brush at him. We’ve been working for a couple hours and about every twenty minutes I hear Barbra this and Barbra that.
Trey showed me several videos of the middle-aged brunette woman with a massive platform for DIY content on TikTok. With her peppy voice, black-framed glasses, and can-do attitude, she gave me the ick. Trey, however, is obsessed.
Trey’s shoulders shake in silent laughter.
Today, he opted for a ridiculous FBI-Female Body Inspector cut off T-shirt, work jeans, and backwards ball cap.
I glare at him and feel my face flush red.
Ultimately, I want to do this right. I want to be proud of my little house.
“Ugh, you’re insufferable. Show me again. ”
“I was fucking with you. It looks great. Barbra would be proud.”
“Wait a second . . . Barbra as in tile floor DIY Barbra? You learned how to lay the tile in my kitchen from a lady on TikTok?” The pieces snap together as I recall Knox mentioning a woman named Barbra and Trey quickly brushing it off. “You mother fu—” I charge him, armed with my paintbrush.
He dashes around the doors, using them as protection.
“Easy, Hawkins. The tile looks great and I just like to fire you up. You get those cute lines on your forehead when you’re angry.
” He laughs as I run around the doors, hunting him down.
He dips his brush into a tray on his way by, coating it in paint.
He holds it out like a sword. “On guard!”
A laugh bursts out of my chest right as I flick my brush. A proud smile follows when it streaks across his shirt and up his face, speckling his hair and hat.
His eyes flare wide before he attacks. “That was a huge mistake.” Lunging for me, he swipes his brush across my arm and shoulder.
I squeal and dart away.
He chases me through the kitchen and into the adjacent dining room, also covered in plastic. I don’t make it far before one arm wraps around my middle, the other—wielding a paintbrush—rushes toward my face.
“Okay, okay! I surrender!”
The brush pauses, but he doesn’t release me. My back held tightly to his front. “I don’t take prisoners.” He whispers in my ear before brushing paint on the very tip of my nose.
I laugh as I squirm against him, blindly swinging my brush behind me.
He swings me around, brushing paint on my legs, arms, and anywhere else he can reach.
I feel my brush connect with him several times before I wiggle loose and spin in his arms.
His blue eyes sparkle with mirth, sending butterflies swarming in my stomach.
With both his arms now wrapped around me, holding my body flush to his, I bring my brush up, swiping a wide stroke across his cheek.
His empty hand whips out, grabbing my brush by the paint-covered bristles.
Paint oozes between his fingers as he yanks it out of my hand, sending it clattering to the floor, leaving me unarmed.
“Now what, Hawkins?”
I raise a single brow at him as I sneakily wipe paint from my leg onto my finger before I swipe it down his nose.
He gasps and brings his paint-soaked hand toward my face, but I slip out of his arms and take off through the kitchen again. Our laughter echoes off the walls, bringing this sad old house back to life.
I lose my focus when his voice drops and he says, “You naughty, naughty, girl.” The split second I falter is all he needs. He drops his paintbrush, using his now free hand to catch me by the belt loop, spinning me, pulling my side flush to his.
Right before he spanks my ass.