3. Piper #2
“Pure spite. He’ll outlive us all just to make sure everyone’s miserable.”
“Yeah, well, you had to go and knock up his precious daughter. Imagine a life where you never had to deal with that bitter old prick.” Callan smirks, and Christian flips him off before his eyes find mine again.
The Beaufords are old-money rich. Travis is pretty reluctant to talk about his family and their business, but I know his mom is the eldest Beauford daughter, which means she inherits not just the money but all the power and influence that comes with it.
Meredith is snooty as hell, with a permanent air of condescension that makes my skin itch. In her eyes, I’m just small-town trash threatening to drag her precious Travis down to my level.
She’s undeniably beautiful, but the woman could freeze hell with a single raised eyebrow, and her fake smile has all the warmth of a morgue.
Thankfully, Travis only drags me to family functions when he absolutely has to, because there’s only so many times I can watch her inspect her manicure while I’m talking before I lose my shit and dump a glass of red wine on her white designer suit.
To put it simply, she and I aren’t exactly what you’d call friends.
The second time I ever met her, I overheard her telling Travis he “didn’t have to settle for someone like me.” Because apparently, Charlotte, his childhood friend with the trust fund, is “very much single” and—wait for it—“svelte.”
Travis has made his fair share of digs about my body over the months we’ve been together, but fuck him because I look damn good in my underwear.
I may not be teeny tiny or whatever society’s currently labeling as desirable, but I fill out lace like a woman who owns every inch of her body.
I’ve got thighs that touch and hips that curve, and not a single part of me feels the need to change or apologize for any of it.
As if he could hear me thinking about him, the bar door swings open, and Travis walks in, already looking irritated. Just before the door shuts behind him, my sister shoves it back open with a huff, stepping inside like she’s just had to deep-breathe her way through dealing with his bullshit.
“We hold doors open for ladies ’round here, Travis.” Callan’s voice has an edge, a low, warning grit that says he’s not in the mood to play nice.
Travis just shrugs, unbothered as ever. “Well, if you see one, let me know.”
“Do you wanna sleep in my house tonight, Travis?” Violet snaps back.
“It’s your sister’s house too.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Actually, it’s not. I just rent a room. Violet pays for most of it, so I suggest you apologize before you end up getting real cozy with your car’s back seat tonight.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Travis laughs, like this whole thing is one big joke, then plants himself right beside Christian without so much as a glance in his direction.
“Nope.” I pop the p, tilting my head. “If she says you’re sleeping in your car, then…”
His jaw flexes, irritation flashing across his face before he sighs, shaking his head. “Fine, whatever. Next time you’re trailing after me, I’ll hold the door so you don’t have to strain your delicate little hands.”
“Knock it off.” Christian’s eyes are on Travis, his voice low. “Just say you’re sorry, and do better next time.”
Travis sighs again before turning back to Violet, who admittedly looks smug as hell right now.
“Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Fucking man-child.
And to think, I’ve been letting this oversized toddler share my bed.
“What can I get you both anyway?” I barely get the question out before Travis speaks over Violet like she’s not even there .
“Beer.”
“Violet?”
“Same, please.”
I make a show of serving Vi first, sliding Travis’s beer to him like an afterthought.
Small victories and all that petty shit.
“So, are you ready for some hard work, Travis?” Callan asks even though he already knows the answer, but the way he baits him so openly has me biting back a smile.
“Considering I’m up here every single December, then yeah, totally ready.”
Liar.
He’d rather not be there.
The fancy boy with his expensive boots and soft hands, pretending like manual labor isn’t beneath him when we all know he thinks he’s too good for it.
I wouldn’t have stayed with him this long if I’d seen his weak, whiny behavior when we first met. But in the last couple of months or so, that perfect mask has slipped, and I’m checking out more and more every day.
Okay, so the crush on his dad is a slight problem, but come on, you don’t stop noticing other people just because you’re in a relationship.
You just don’t act on it.
Which I haven’t.
Well, not outside my head, anyway.
But inside it’s a whole different story, and I’m swimming in Christian Crawford fantasies that’d make a priest sweat.
Sometimes, he’s got me bent over the tailgate of his truck, one hand fisted in my hair, the other spanking my ass while he tells me how I shouldn’t be letting boys touch what was always meant for a man.
Other times, I’m on my knees, his cock in my mouth, his hand wrapped around my throat as he tells me how long he’s dreamed of this while I was off playing house with his son.
So yeah, it’s only a minor problem.
“What time are you guys planning on coming up tomorrow?”
“When do you need us?” Travis answers like the whole thing is an inconvenience, and he’s being asked to single-handedly move an entire mountain.
“Whenever, really… I’ve planned around you both, so there won’t be much that needs to be done besides getting settled.”
“So, I could’ve just come down to Rosewood tomorrow.”
“Wow, anyone would think spending the night with your girlfriend is a fucking chore.” My sister is just two seconds away from tearing Travis a new one, and honestly, I’m not sure I’d stop her at this point.
“You won’t be saying that when you hear the way I put her to work later.” My eyes roll so hard they might get stuck, and my head falls back in pure frustration.
Vi’s looking at Travis like he’s something she scraped off her boot, and honestly? Fair. I tell her everything, so she knows he’s full of shit. She knows the most work he’s put me to in this relationship is pretending I’m satisfied with our vanilla-as-hell sex life—if you can even call it that.
By the time my head rights itself, Christian’s eyes are already on me. That dark gaze pins me in place, and Jesus Christ, I need the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
I’m sure he’s probably got some lingerie-wearing cowgirl with legs for days warming his bed, but the way he’s looking at me right now isn’t how any man should look at his son’s girlfriend.
What I used to brush off as him just being polite, maybe even protective, doesn’t feel so innocent anymore.
Nothing’s happened. Not really. Not unless you count the way my breath catches every time his fingers brush mine when I hand him his drink.
But there’s a tension crackling between us that could start fires, a heat that races down my spine every time he lets his gaze linger on me a little too long.
And no matter how many times I try to convince myself it’s nothing, it doesn’t feel like nothing anymore.
“I’m gonna go stock the bar and leave you to talk about our sex life alone before I start telling some truths that you’re not ready to hear.”
“What the hell, Piper?”
“Seriously, learn when to shut up,” I shoot back, not bothering to hide the disgust in my voice.
I march my ass out back and escape into the cellar.
Down here in the quiet darkness, surrounded by the earthy smell of old wood and wine that’s been aging longer than I’ve been alive, I rest my forehead against a rough beam and try to remember how to breathe.
I just have to survive two more weeks of him.
I’ve committed to helping at Christian’s farm, and I’m going to see it through.
No matter how much Travis grates on my nerves, no matter how badly I want to scream every time he opens his mouth, I’m not backing out.
A throat clears behind me, and before I even turn around, my skin tightens with that familiar pull, the way it always does when Christian Crawford steps into a room. It’s an awareness that’s become second nature by now, something I feel before I ever see his face.
“I know he’s your son…” I whisper, my forehead still resting against the beam.
“You don’t have to say anything I don’t already know.” I turn my neck just enough to watch him step closer. “Listen, I don’t want you to feel like you have to come up to the farm if it’s too much. Travis will pitch a fit like a toddler who dropped his ice cream, but he’ll survive.”
“You know I can help up there. I’m not exactly sure what to do, but I’m happy to be there.”
“You sure?” He watches me carefully, clearly offering me a way out if I want it.
“I’m sure. I want to help.”
“I’ll try and keep Travis in check.” He pauses, like there’s more he wants to say but probably shouldn’t.
I catch the flicker of movement in his cheek, the way the muscle jumps beneath that rough stubble, and for a split second, all I want is to reach out and run my fingers along the tension there.
Just to feel it.
Just to touch him.
“I don’t like the way he…”
“The way he what?” I ask, finally turning to face him fully.
“I guess I always hoped he’d treat his woman better than he does.”
“Oh… It’s fine.” Because as soon as I’m off that mountain, it’s over. “He just has the emotional maturity of a fifteen-year-old boy. I’m sure when he’s your age and settled down, he’ll have his shit together. ”
“I hope so, or I’ll be taking his ass down a peg or two when I’m sixty.”
“I’m sure his wife will appreciate it.”
But it won’t be me.
I clear my throat, desperate to shift the mood and dispel the static curling around us.
“Would you mind grabbing a couple of crates while you’re down here?”
“Pass it here, darlin’. Don’t want you breaking a nail.”
“Ah, so that’s where he gets his patronizing bullshit from. Should’ve known it was genetic.”
Christian freezes mid-reach, then throws back his head and laughs.
“I can promise you, whatever’s wrong with my boy, he didn’t learn it from me.”
He steps in close, reaching for the crate in my hands, and his fingers brush against mine. It’s barely a touch—nothing more than skin grazing skin—but it’s enough to send a bolt of electricity straight to my nipples.
Yes, nipples.
Those traitorous bastards.
They’re sensitive enough that sometimes, I’m pretty sure my orgasms start there before anything else even happens.
I follow Christian up from the cellar, one step behind on the stairs, close enough to catch the clean scent of pine and woodsmoke clinging to his shirt.
When we enter the main bar area, Travis’s beer bottle freezes halfway to his lips. His eyes track our movement as we make our way across the room, settling on the narrow space between us like he’s searching for something he can’t see but feels anyway.
“You should’ve said if you needed help.” Travis’s voice drips with a possessiveness he definitely hasn’t earned.
“Sometimes a lady shouldn’t have to ask, little nephew,” Callan fires back. “It’s called taking charge and being a gentleman.”
When your own family—the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally—can barely tolerate you, that’s when you know something’s really wrong .
I’ve put up with a lot of Travis’s crap these last six months. His complete lack of effort in literally everything that matters, from showing basic human decency to remembering what’s important to the people around him.
For a while, I wondered if I was just being overly sensitive.
Maybe I was expecting too much and setting the bar impossibly high.
But the truth is he’s genuinely difficult to love, and the worst part is that these men clearly want to love him.
They try, but Travis makes it damn near impossible with his complete inability to meet anyone halfway.
A few hours later, I’m finally back home and freshly showered, my hair still damp against my neck while exhaustion clings to my bones.
I pad across the floor in my bare feet, my oversized sleep shirt hanging loose around my thighs, and step into the bedroom hoping to find Travis already asleep or at least winding down.
Instead, I take one look at his face… and of course, he’s in a fucking mood.
“What’s up?” I ask, slipping beneath the sheets.
“This is why I hate going to the bar,” he mutters. “My dad and Callan get on my ass about everything…” Then, like the baby he is, he raises his voice into a full-blown yell. “NOT TO MENTION YOUR SISTER.”
“What do you expect when you act like that?”
“Great, now I gotta have you jumping on my ass too.”
“Let’s just go to sleep. Nothing good is going to come of this.”
“You’re shitting me, right? I came all the way down here. The least you can do is suck me off or something.” The request hangs in the air, so ridiculous and entitled that something inside me just… breaks.
I laugh, and it’s not a sexy or cute laugh—it’s the kind of laugh that says absolutely the fuck not in ten different languages.
“Oh my god, you’re actually serious.” I fluff my pillow with a little more force than necessary, turn my back to him, and switch off the light. “Go to sleep, Travis. Or help yourself to the shower. There’s plenty of lotion and soap. I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”