Chapter 3 #2
“Five minutes,” I tell myself, jogging toward the hose. “I’ll rinse her off and get out of here before anyone notices.”
The water comes out in a steady stream, cold enough to make me gasp when it splashes back on me.
My nipples harden beneath my wet shirt, and I curse under my breath.
Rita, surprisingly, stands still for her impromptu bath.
Maybe she realizes she’s in trouble, or maybe she actually likes being clean.
Or, maybe she’s just sprung a brain tumor and has morphed into a cooperative animal.
I’m bent over, working the worst of the mud out of her coat, when I hear footsteps behind me. My body recognizes them before my brain does. Three sets, three different gaits. My skin prickles with awareness.
“Well, well,” Jesse’s voice drawls, and the sound goes straight through me. “What do we have here?”
I freeze, water still running, Rita dripping beside me. The cold water has made everything worse, or better, depending on one’s perspective, and there are three sets of eyes burning into me.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say without turning around, because if I turn around right now, they’ll see exactly how wet I am. How my body is responding to their presence.
“Looks like you’re stealing our water,” Wyatt says, his voice is rough. The sound sends heat spiraling through me despite the cold water.
I turn to face them while still holding the hose, and immediately wish I hadn’t. All three are standing there with their arms crossed, but their eyes... their eyes are dark, hungry, taking in every detail of my soaked appearance.
Jesse’s gaze drops to my chest, where my top has become basically see-through. Wyatt’s jaw clenches as his eyes track the water droplets rolling down my neck. Boone’s trying to look anywhere but at me and failing, big-time. Which I kind of get a kick out of. I’m not going to lie.
“I don’t need to steal water. Give me a break.”
“Oh, really? Because it looks like you’re stealing to me,” Jesse says, his grin infuriating me.
“I’m borrowing it. I’ll give it back.”
“Used? Used borrowed water?” Wyatt asks, and the way he says “used” makes it sound dirty.
“New. Clean. I’ll return it in gallon jugs. Will that work for you?” My voice comes out breathier than intended.
“How long will it take for you to make good on this promise?” he continues, stepping closer.
“I’ll… I’ll get back to you on that.”
Jesse moves closer too, his sleeves rolled up, showing off forearms that have no business looking that good. His muscles flex as he reaches to push his hair back, a movement I helplessly watch.
“You know,” he says, his eyes doing a slow sweep down my body, “most people who want to spy on us at least try to be subtle about it.”
“Spy?” I sputter, shifting and accidentally spraying water on myself again. “I’m not spying. Don’t flatter yourself. I’m washing a goat.”
“On our property.” Jesse’s stepped close enough now that I can see his pupils are dilated.
“Because your property is where she got dirty.”
“So this is our fault?” Wyatt asks, and he’s moved closer too, close enough that I’m surrounded by McCoy brothers and testosterone.
“Everything is your fault. Why is your water trough so muddy? It’s disgusting. Probably full of bacteria. You might have made my animal sick.”
Jesse laughs, a sound that vibrates through my entire body. “That’s a pretty aggressive accusation. I still say you were spying.”
“If I were actually spying,” I say, lifting my chin even though the movement makes water droplets roll down my cleavage, all three sets of eyes tracking their path, “I’d at least bring binoculars and snacks. Maybe a folding chair for comfort.”
“What kind of snacks?” Boone asks with genuine curiosity, his voice cracking slightly as he tries not to stare at my wet shirt.
“Sandwiches. Chips. Something with caffeine. Proper surveillance food.”
“She’s got a point,” Boone tells his brothers, his heated gaze meeting mine. “Real spies come prepared.”
Wyatt shakes his head. “You’re all ridiculous.”
“Says the man who thinks goats are weeds,” I mutter, but I’m watching the way his wet T-shirt clings to his chest. When did he get wet, anyway?
“I didn’t say weeds. I said weeds with legs.”
“Oh, so much better.”
Jesse steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body despite my wet clothes. “You missed a spot,” he says quietly, his voice rough.
“What?”
He reaches out and tucks a wet strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek, trailing down to my neck. The touch is electric, sending shock waves straight to my core.
“There,” he says, his thumb brushing along my jaw. “Better.”
I’m suddenly very aware that I’m standing in the middle of McCoy territory, soaking wet with my clothes clinging to every curve, with Jesse’s hand touching my face and Wyatt and Boone watching with expressions that make me want to combust.
“I should go,” I say, my voice creaking.
“Should,” Jesse agrees, but his thumb traces my bottom lip, and I part my lips involuntarily.
That’s when I notice Wyatt’s expression has gone from annoyed to something else entirely. His hands are clenched into fists, and there’s a muscle jumping in his jaw like he’s fighting for control.
“This is not cool,” he says, his voice low and dangerous in a way that makes my thighs clench.
“What’s not?” I ask, though I know exactly what he means and am really just hoping to antagonize him.
“This.” He gestures between Jesse and me, but his eyes are on my mouth. “This flirting bullshit.”
“There’s no ‘this,’” I say quickly, stepping back from Jesse’s touch even though every cell in my body protests. “There’s just a goat, a hose, and a misunderstanding. Oh, and your disgusting trough.”
“Right,” Wyatt says, but his eyes drop to where my shirt clings, and I see him swallow hard.
Rita chooses that moment to shake herself again, sending water droplets flying over all of us.
“Thanks for the editorial, girl,” I mutter, grabbing her collar with shaking hands. “Really helpful timing.”
But as I turn to lead Rita back home, I feel their eyes tracking me. My body is hyperaware of how my wet jeans cling, how the water has made everything transparent, how desperately I want to turn back and see if they’re as turned on as I am.
Whatever this is, it’s probably a mistake. Problem is, my body doesn’t care anymore. It wants what it wants.
And what it wants is three McCoy brothers.
I’m thinking maybe I can get Rita off McCoy property and pretend this whole incident never happened, pretend my body isn’t still thrumming from their proximity, and pretend I’m not fighting the urge to turn back. That’s when I hear the unmistakable sound of a golf cart approaching.
My stomach drops. Not just because of what’s about to happen, but because I’m still soaking wet, my clothes clinging to all the wrong places, the McCoy brothers’ eyes burning into me.
“Oh, no,” I breathe.
“What?” Jesse asks, stepping closer.
That’s when we all see Mrs. Delaney, bearing down on us in her bright pink golf cart with her phone held high like she’s documenting a wildlife expedition. She pulls right up into the McCoy’s driveway like she lives there.
“Smile, everyone!” she calls out cheerfully. “This is going straight to Facebook!”
The camera clicks rapidly as she snaps photos from every angle: water still dripping down my chest, Jesse standing close enough that we look intimate, Wyatt glowering with that dark intensity that makes my pulse race, Boone waving like he’s in a parade while trying not to stare at my transparent shirt.
“Mrs. Delaney,” I start, but she’s already typing furiously on her phone.
“This is perfect,” she says without looking up. “Absolutely perfect. ‘Thompson girl caught red-handed on McCoy property.’ No, wait. ‘Secret rendezvous at water trough.’ Even better: ‘Sleeping with the enemy?’”
The phrase “sleeping with” combined with the way all three brothers are looking at me makes heat flood my face. And other places.
My phone pings. Then pings again. And again.
“No, no, no,” I mutter, pulling out my phone to see notification after notification flooding my screen.
Cedar Ridge Community Facebook Group:
Mrs. Delaney has posted a new photo.
Cedar Ridge Community Facebook Group:
Mrs. Delaney has added you to a post.
I click on the first notification and immediately want to throw my phone into the dirty trough I just pulled Rita out of.
In the post, I am in living color, soaking wet and practically indecent, standing next to Jesse McCoy with water dripping from my hair and his hand clearly visible near my face. The photo captured the exact moment his thumb brushed my lip, and the expression on my face is pure, undisguised want.
The caption reads:
Young love blooms where you least expect it!
#EnemiesToLovers
#SmallTownRomance
#TeamThompson
#TeamMcCoy
Then the comments pour in:
I KNEW IT!
About time those families made peace!
She’s too good for any McCoy.
Plot twist of the century!
Someone call the newspaper!
Look at the way she’s looking at him!!!
Is her shirt wet?
My face burns as I scroll through them, each one worse than the last. Someone has already screenshot and zoomed in on Jesse’s hand on my face, and on the way Wyatt is staring at me.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“What?” Boone asks, peering over my shoulder at the phone, his chest pressing against my back in a way that makes me shiver. “Damn. Mrs. Delaney works fast.”
“Very fast,” Jesse agrees, reading over my other shoulder, effectively sandwiching me between McCoy brothers. His breath is warm against my ear when he adds, “That’s actually a great photo of you.”
My body reacts to being pressed between them, and I have to bite back a whimper.
Wyatt snatches the phone from my hands. He scowls at the screen, his jaw clenching in that way that makes me want to trace it with my tongue. God, what is wrong with me?
“This is exactly what I was talking about. This is why this is a mistake.”