Chapter 2 #2
“Should,” Jesse agrees, stepping closer. Close enough that I can see her pulse racing in her throat. “But do you want to?”
The question hangs in the air, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. Watch her tongue dart out to wet her lips. Watch her chest rise and fall faster. The air feels thick, charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
She doesn’t want to go.
And God help me, I don’t want her to go either. Want her to stay. Want to find out if her skin is as soft as it looks. Want to know what sounds she makes when—
That’s a problem. A big, hot, consuming problem.
“Yeah,” she says finally, but the word lacks conviction. Her eyes betray her, darting to my mouth before quickly looking away.
“Liar,” Jesse says softly, and the intimacy in his voice makes me want to punch him.
“Jesse.” My voice comes out as a growl, rough with want and warning. Both of them look at me, and Callie’s eyes widen slightly at whatever she sees in my expression.
“What?” Jesse asks, all fake innocence. “I’m making conversation with our neighbor.”
“You’re making trouble.” And making me imagine things I shouldn’t. Like what Callie would look like spread out on my bed. Like how she’d sound saying my name.
“I thought she was trouble.”
She is. She’s the kind of trouble that’s going to keep me awake at night, hard and aching, imagining all the things I can’t have.
Callie looks between us, and I catch the way her gaze lingers on my arms and my chest, before snapping back to my face. “I’m standing right here, you know. If you want to talk about me, at least have the courtesy to do it when I’m not listening.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Jesse asks, and his fingers brush her arm as he speaks. Just a ghost of a touch, but she shivers, and I see goose bumps rise on her skin.
“Fun?” Her voice cracks slightly. “Is that what this is? Fun for you?”
“Starting to be.” Jesse’s looking at her like he’s memorizing every detail, and I’m doing the same damn thing. The way her hair falls when she tilts her head. The freckle just above her collar bone. The way her jeans sit low on her hips, revealing just a hint of skin when she moves.
The admission hangs between them, electric and charged with promise. My chest is so tight, I can barely breathe. This is exactly what I was afraid of—not just Jesse wanting her, but me wanting her too. Wanting her with an intensity that scares the hell out of me.
“We should get back,” I say, my voice flat, trying to hide how affected I am. “Dad’s expecting us.”
It’s a lie, but it’s the only thing I can think of to end this before I do something stupid like grab Callie Thompson and kiss her until neither of us can think straight.
“Right,” Jesse says, but he’s still looking at Callie like he’s planning exactly how he’s going to have her. “Duty calls.”
“Duty,” Callie repeats, and her gaze finds mine. For a moment, just a moment, I see the same hunger reflected in her eyes that’s burning through me. “Right. Well, thanks for the halter.”
She turns to leave, and watching her walk away is physical pain. I notice everything—the way her hair sways, how her shoulders tense like she’s fighting not to look back, the perfect curve of her ass in those jeans. I’m completely, utterly fucked.
Until Jesse calls after her.
“See you around, pretty girl.”
She stops, turns back, and the look on her face, part want, part fear, part something wild, makes my blood surge hot.
“Probably not.”
But there’s heat in her voice, promise in the way she lets her gaze linger on each of us before she goes.
And that’s when I know we’re all in trouble. Deep, consuming, burn-everything-down trouble.
Because I don’t just want to touch her. I want to possess her. Want to know every sound she makes, every way she moves, want to mark her as mine even though she could never be.
Boone’s still snickering as we watch her walk away, but all I can think about is the sway of her hips and how badly I want my hands on them.
“You’re an idiot,” I tell Jesse, trying to sound normal when my entire body is wound tight.
“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees. “But did you see the way she looked at me?”
I saw. Saw the heat in her eyes, the flush on her skin. Saw the way she looked at all of us, like she was imagining the same things I am.
“I saw the way she wanted to punch you.”
“Same thing.” Jesse’s grin is predatory. “Besides, you were looking at her the same way. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
I shake my head and start walking back toward the house, trying to adjust myself discreetly because watching Callie Thompson has left me hard and aching.
Life’s plenty long enough to avoid unnecessary complications.
Callie Thompson isn’t just an unnecessary complication.
She’s an inevitability. A storm headed straight for us.
And God help me, I want to be destroyed by her.
I watch Callie’s truck disappear down the road, dust trailing behind it, and try to ignore the way my body feels from being near her. My jeans are killing me because my dick is hard, and I have to force myself not to adjust things in front of my brothers. Otherwise, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Well, that was fun,” Jesse says, grinning like an idiot, though I catch him shifting his stance in a way that tells me I’m not the only one suffering from tight pants.
“No, it was not,” I say, my voice rougher than intended. It’s something sweet and female that’s making it hard to think straight.
“Come on, Wy. Live a little. When’s the last time you had a conversation with a pretty girl that didn’t involve cattle prices or weather?”
“When’s the last time you had a conversation with a female that didn’t involve trying to get them naked?” The words come out harsher than intended, fueled by the image of Jesse’s fingers on Callie’s skin.
Jesse’s grin turns knowing. “Jealous?”
“Of what? You making a fool of yourself?”
“Of me touching her.” His voice drops, and there’s something dangerous in it now. “I saw how you watched when our fingers touched. Saw how your jaw clenched. Dude, you’re an awful poker face.”
I don’t argue. He’s fucking right.
Boone’s examining his gross goat-slobber belt again, holding it up to the light like it’s some kind of artifact. He’s oblivious to the tension crackling between Jesse and me. “You think this’ll wash out?”
“Just throw it away,” I tell him, grateful for the distraction. “Buy a new one. Or take one of mine.”
“Callie said she’d buy me a new one. But this one’s got character now. Plus, it smells like her perfume mixed with goat.”
And there it is. Even Boone noticed her scent.
“Don’t expect a Thompson to make good on their word. You know how they are.”
“I wouldn’t say that about Callie. She seems decent. Solid. Not a lunatic like her old man. Plus, did you see the way she bent over to—”
“Boone.” My warning comes out as more of a growl, and both my brothers look at me with raised eyebrows.
“What? I’m just saying she’s flexible.”
Jesse laughs. “Very flexible. Wonder what else she’s flexible about.”
His words plant quite the image in my head, of Callie beneath me, back arched, legs wrapped. I almost stumble over my feet but catch myself. Unfortunately, Jesse notices.
“Careful there, Brother. Wouldn’t want you to fall.”
“Shut up.”
We head back to the house, but I can’t shake the feeling that something just shifted. Something that’s going to cause problems for all of us. My skin still feels weird, like I need to either hit something or find a cold shower. Maybe both.
Dad’s waiting for us on the front porch, his arms crossed and his expression dark. Dean McCoy doesn’t miss much, and he definitely doesn’t miss his sons talking to Thompson women. Or the way we’re all walking a little stiffly, trying to hide our erections.
“You boys want to explain what just happened out there?”
“Rita got loose,” Jesse says with a shrug, but I notice he’s keeping his hands in his pockets. “We helped untangle her. Good deed for the day.”
“That wasn’t a good deed, that was a mistake.” Dad’s voice is sharp enough to cut. “And if I see any of you near that Thompson girl again, you’ll regret it.”
“Dad—” Boone starts.
“No.” Dad cuts him off. “I mean it. The Thompsons are nothing but trouble, and that girl’s the worst of them. You saw what her goat did today. You think she’s any different? Girls like that, they use what they’ve got to cause problems. To divide families.”
Heat rises in my chest, not the good kind from earlier but something darker. Protective.
“She’s not trash,” I say before I can stop myself.
Dad’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Just... she’s not trash.”
“She’s a Thompson. Same thing. And from the way you’re all acting, she’s already got her hooks in you. That’s what women like her do—spread their legs and—”
“Dad.” The word comes out sharp enough to surprise us both. My fists are clenched so tight, my knuckles ache. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Tell the truth? That girl’s just like her mother was. Pretty face, tight jeans, and nothing but trouble underneath.”
The image of what’s underneath Callie’s jeans flashes through my mind before I can stop it, and I have to turn away before Dad sees it on my face.
“We need to clean up,” Dad says, dismissing us. “And remember what I said. No more contact with the Thompsons. Any of them. I won’t have my sons thinking with their dicks instead of their heads.”
Inside the house, Jesse flops down on the couch and grins at me. “So, Callie Thompson. Interesting development.”
“There’s no development.”
“The way you jumped to defend her says otherwise. Plus, you’re still hard.”
I grab a throw pillow and adjust it on my lap as I sit in the armchair. “I’m not—”
“Please. We all are. Girl’s got that effect.”
“I was stating a fact.”
“Uh-huh.” Jesse’s grin widens. “And the way you looked at her ass when she walked away? Also just stating facts?”
I get up to grab a beer and twist off the cap harder than necessary, using the cold bottle as an excuse to cool down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”