12. Pretty Little Poison
Pretty Little Poison
OLLIE
AUGUST
Idon’t think I’d ever be able to be around fire again.
I swear, smoke stuck to every inch of my body.
My hair, my lungs, my fucking brain. It’s like even my thoughts were mingled with tendrils of it.
Each step felt as if my boots were filled with cement, and my wrist throbbed like it had a pulse all its own.
Ugh, maybe I should have taken that paramedic’s advice and gotten it checked out.
Whatever, that’s what ice and wrist braces were for.
I was serious; I wasn’t about to pay some stupid hospital bill.
I managed to beat the guys back to the ranch—perks of taking my bike instead of riding with them—and wasted no time rushing to one of the bathrooms in the bunkhouse to shower.
The spray of the hot water as I stepped into the tub was both a blessing and a curse.
I don’t think I’d ever felt more fucking excited to shower in my life, but each second I stood in there was like a race towards unconsciousness.
What was Cash doing? Had he realized I’d left?
Probably not. He had enough shit to deal with.
I was probably—no, definitely at the bottom of that list. A twinge of guilt settled in my stomach.
I shouldn’t have left without even saying goodbye.
But I was tired and annoyed and… Well, I had no excuse really.
Which was shitty, I know, but whatever. It was what it was. No going back now.
I scrubbed every square inch of my body and hair at least five times, and still the smell of smoke lingered. I think it was stuck in my fucking nose at this point.
Ugh, whatever, fuck it.
Grabbing a towel, I dried myself off and trudged across the hall to my room.
I didn’t even bother grabbing clothes. Honestly, I was so useless at this point, I didn’t think I’d be able to pull them on even if I tried.
Wrapped in my towel, I plopped, stomach first, onto the mattress.
I think I was asleep before even hitting the pillow.
Smoke. Fire. Ash.
It was everywhere. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t see a goddamn thing. I felt like I was drowning, wading through sludge or quicksand or tar as I blindly trudged forward. Toward something. Someone.
“...Ollie.”
“Ollie? You in there?”
I awoke with a start, the muffled voice on the other side of my bedroom door accompanied by a series of quick knocks.
A groan works its way out of me as I tried and failed to blink the sleep from my eyes.
My eyelids may as well have been sewn shut.
I tried to push myself up, but I think every bone in my body had legitimately melted. At least, that’s what it felt like.
“Go away,” I grumbled more to myself than whoever the hell was on the other side of the door. I honestly wasn’t even sure if I’d said the words aloud or simply thought them.
I just wanted to go to sleep.
The knocking continued, followed by more questions from a vaguely familiar voice I couldn’t quite place. Whatever, I wasn’t getting up. Let them knock until their damn knuckles bled.
I think I fell asleep again. Not for long, but enough that I didn’t remember the door to my room opening with a creak. My eyelids finally fluttered open as my bed jostled.
“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, sugar.” None other than Cash fucking Mooney sat on my bed, looking like a damn angel with the light of my bedside lamp glowing around his head like a halo. He really was annoyingly handsome. A little spark of desire blossomed in my chest.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” I snapped, remembering what a dick he’d been earlier today.
Or was it yesterday? I honestly wasn’t even positive how long I’d been asleep.
I pushed myself up into a sitting position, making sure to keep myself covered with my towel.
Not that I was particularly self-conscious of him seeing me naked, but I wasn’t about to give him a free show when I was still annoyed with him.
His hazel gaze was surprisingly soft as he ran a hand through his unkempt hair and sighed. “I came to thank you for yesterday. You did a helluva lot to help, and I’m real grateful.”
“Well, you’re welcome,” I grumbled. “Now leave.”
A chuckle escaped him, and I shivered under the weight of his stare. “I also came to apologize for how I acted. I was…” He blew out a breath and shrugged. “I was tired and stressed the fuck out, and barely hangin’ on, and when you asked me about Jacie, I just, I snapped, and… Well, I’m sorry.”
Ugh, why did he have to apologize? Now I felt guilty for being annoyed.
I was too tired, too out of it to properly deal with all of this.
A part of me—the logical part—knew I had completely overreacted yesterday, but the frustrating, emotional side of me was petty to her very core.
It always left me reeling in situations where I couldn’t properly feel my feels or whatever bullshit everyone said nowadays.
But as much as I wanted to be angry, logic won out in the end. Blowing out a sigh of my own, I said, rather grumpily, I might add, “I’m…sorry too. I probably could have handled that better.”
His lips pulled up into a lopsided smirk. Almost like he enjoyed how annoyed I was with him. Why the hell did he have to be so damn attractive? “We both went through hell yesterday,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet…or really good tequila. “Let’s let bygones be bygones.”
I rolled my eyes, but failed to bite back a smirk. “Big words, Big Daddy.”
A full-fledged smile graced his face. “Come on, let’s get you some breakfast, sugar.” He patted the bed and stood up, already heading for the door.
I didn’t move, though, the stubborn part of me in no mood to follow orders, even if I did like his assertive, take charge attitude right now. “I have work.”
“Somehow, I knew you’d be difficult.” He shrugged, another grin lighting up his face. “Which is why I brought breakfast to you.”
“What did you bring?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Some pastries from that diner in town on Main Street.”
Whatever grumpiness that still lingered in my veins vanished, the anticipation of sweets too good for me to ignore. “Let me change. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Cash leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, like he was getting ready to enjoy the show, his gaze playful and warm. “Aw, but I was so lookin’ forward to gettin’ to watch.”
I barked out a laugh. “Nice try, Big Daddy. It’s gonna take a lot more than sweet treats and an apology to see me naked.”
And damn him, but the bastard winked and flashed me a thousand-watt smile that seared me to the bone. “Good to know, sugar,” he murmured, his voice going dangerously low before walking out of the room.
Well, fuck. Did I have time for a cold shower?
Of course, not only did Cash fucking Mooney manage to bring me breakfast, but he’d also gotten my favorite: chocolate croissants. The perfect gentleman, the perfect smooth-talker, the perfect breakfast buyer, apparently.
It’s like everything about this golden boy was a turn on. Even the things he did wrong were somehow right. Which made me all the more grumpy…and turned on.
“So,” he asked, nodding to the bag of pastries I carried as we walked side by side toward the barn. “How are they?”
Fucking amazing, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. Not when that satisfied smirk was still plastered on his lips. I shrugged, even as I licked every last crumb off my fingertips. “I’ve had better.”
He chuckled, his molten gaze locked on my fingers like he wished for all the world to be my fingertips. “Good to know.”
“So…” I asked, breaking eye contact, “How’re things at the ranch?”
“We rounded up most of the cattle and got them settled into the new pasture…” He blew out a breath. “We lost about a dozen or so, but overall it ain’t too bad. The buckin’ broncs and the rest of our horses are all at my Mom and Dad’s place until we get the barn and the fences fixed.”
God, it sounded like so much. So why the hell was he here wasting his morning on me? “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
He shrugged, like losing the barn and half of his pastures weren’t a big deal, and gestured with his chin toward my wrist. “How’re you feelin’?”
“It hurts,” I admitted, noting the swelling. “It’ll be fine in a week or so.” I hoped.
Cash stopped, reached out, and grabbed my hand, forcing me to stop as well. “May I?” he asked, his grip surprisingly soft.
“My, what manners you have,” I hummed, reveling in the way his callouses scraped against my skin.
He glanced up at me through thick lashes that most people paid good money for, and the sly grin that graced his lips sent a shiver down my spine. “The better to woo you with, my dear.”
I scoffed, trying and failing to bite back a grin. “Am I gonna live?”
He chuckled, turning my wrist this way and that with a gentleness I didn’t expect. “Does this hurt?” he asked.
I winced as he manipulated it, flipping my palm faced up. “A little.”
“There ain’t bruisin’, and you’re movin’ it too well to be broken,” he finally admitted.
“How do you know so much about injured wrists?” I asked. Oh God, did I sound breathy? I did, didn’t I? Get your shit together, Ol. He’s just a guy. A really, really hot guy who knew how to play the game really damn well.
He continued inspecting my wrist. At this point, I didn’t know if he was doing it for any other reason than to touch me, but if that were the case, I wasn’t complaining.
His touch was like a live wire. “I’ve had my fair share of injured wrists.
Comes with the sport… You know—” He glanced up at me, his gaze sizzling and his tone turning quiet, intimate almost. “One of the times I hurt my wrist, the physical therapist recommended this one exercise that’ll help out a bit. ”
“What is it?” I asked.
“So, you gotta get somethin’ you can hold in your hand…somethin’ a decent size around. Maybe about two inches around or so. And you just,” he paused, “slide your hand up and down, stretch out the muscles in the wrists.”