Page 57 of Finding Fate
“I told you I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s got you pissy.”
“Nowhere was it discussed in a pre-sex contract that we would have heart-to-hearts, country. Let it go. You don’t tell me shit. We aren’t those kinds of people. I’m entitled to my privacy.”
He pulls out and rolls off of me, pulling me on top of him. I love the way his waist is narrow, and his torso lean with shredded muscle, but then it widens at his ribcage to show off the larger top half. “Ask me one question and I’ll answer it, then you’re going to answer mine.”
“And if I don’t want to play?”
He places a hand on each butt cheek and squeezes. “What’s it going to hurt? You’re going home tomorrow and I leave for work in a couple of days. Have something better to do?”
I sigh. He does have a point. Ugh. And he’s talking, so . . . But what would I even want to know about him? Anything? I feel like I should make it count whatever it is. I don’t want to know shit that makes me look like I’m expecting this to become a relationship. It doesn’t need to be anything about girls. And since he wants to know what’s bothering me . . . “Do you have any siblings?”
“A sister, yeah.”
“Are you two close?”
His lips pull north. “That’s two questions.”
I shrug. “It’s sort of related.”
He stares up at me for a second, like he’s deciding if he wants to answer or not, and then runs his fingers along my panty string tan line that runs horizontal over my hip to the front. I like to tan in panties just covering enough that my vagina is blocked from anything entering, so I bought the sluttiest panties I could find in several pair in case I go multiple times in one week but the line would always be the same. It never really occurred to me a guy would like it. “Yeah, but I guess that really depends on what your version of close is and mine. We don’t really hang out often if that’s what you’re asking. She’s a single mom to two kids. I help her when she needs help and watch them some when I’m off.”
“I don’t really know what I’m asking. I’ve never been close to my brother and sister. I’ve stayed out of their way and done my own thing for years. I came out here to try and make an effort for Presley and me to be friends, I guess, but she’s more interested in everything else than actually hanging out with me. I’ve spent more time with all of her roommates than her. I don’t know. She keeps blowing me off. Maybe we’re just not meant to be friends. Whatever. I don’t care.”
“If you didn’t care it wouldn’t piss you off,” he says, without much thought or emotion preceding the comment, aggravating me. This is why I don’t talk to people. They never feel the same or understand why you feel the way you do.
“Just forget it.”
“It’s simple. If she doesn’t make you a priority over shit that doesn’t matter it’s her loss. Surround yourself with people that actually want to be around you, family or not. That’s what I do. The rest aren’t worth the effort.”
Since that solves all of my problems . . . I roll my eyes. Lame. I’m over this whole talking shit. We that don’t give a damn when people treat us like we’re unimportant become the exact opposite—the most important. I got emotional for a second. So what? Happens to the best of us. I’m over it. No need to have a therapy session about it. I write my own rules. My life is great because I make it that way. “Thanks for that, country, but I don’t surround myself with people. People surround themselves around me. That’s the way it’s always going to be. Back home, I’m an important person.”
He pinches my nipples and pulls, sending a jolt of pain through my body. I refuse to whine about it, giving him the satisfaction of causing me pain. “Why is that, brat? Because you lucked out with being hot and know how to post slutty photos for everyone to see without following through on the tease? In case you haven’t figured out guys by now, we like unlimited spank bank material and flock to those that provide it. That doesn’t make you important. It makes you a free muse.”
I tense, feeling exposed, suddenly wanting that shower now. Needing time alone. He can make assumptions about me, but he doesn’t know a damn thing about me or my life or shit I post, and that’s the way I want things to stay. I live behind armor. I’ll never take off my mask for anyone. No one will make me bleed. No one will see my vulnerability. I’m aggressive because I want to be. He’s staring up at me, waiting for me to speak. I lean in, my lips so close to his. “Maybe a muse is all I want to be.”
I get off him and stand up, making my way to my clothes, already half-dressed when he grabs my shirt in my hand, keeping me from putting it on. “Where are you going?”
The muscles in my face tense on one side, creating a smirk of sorts, and I release the shirt, letting him have it, knowing I’m about to piss him off. “To shower and then find Gabby and Maddox. Might want to smooth that over somehow since they walked in on you giving it to me hard against the wall earlier. I’ll never tell. Question is—will they?”
And then I walk off in my shorts and grab his shirt off the floor on the way, heading through the basement as a slew of curse words like ‘motherfucker’ and ‘goddammit’ assault the atmosphere around me. I smile. Sometimes I love being seventeen.
Thirty-Three
Landon
“Psst.” Warm air fans across the front of my face and something touches me, causing me to stir and wake up. The second my eyes open to a face almost touching mine I jump, inhaling a gulp of air, becoming alert.
My heart starts racing over being woken from a dead sleep, realizing it’s Paxtyn standing over me from beside the bed, fully dressed from the naked state she was in when I passed out, which includes her hair pulled back with a Nike cap on her head. God, I am starting to miss being alone. I don’t think there is anything scarier than being woken up to someone standing over you in the dark like they’re seconds from driving a knife in you.
The fear running through my veins from the disturbance in sleep reminds me of the first time my niece stayed with me in my trailer after I got it. I just so happened to wake up as I rolled over to her standing in the fucking corner of my room silently, her long dark hair hanging down each side of her face like that psycho chick onThe Ringthat was always coming out of shit wet. I had to remind myself of her age somewhere in the panic because I almost lost my shit on her. Turns out she was scared to wake me up but couldn’t sleep. She knows to just get in the damn bed now. “What the fuck, Paxtyn!? That’s creepy as hell.”
“I requested an Uber,” she whispers over me, like someone could actually hear her down here when all of the bedrooms, including the stairs to the second and third floors, are across the house on the main floor. “I just wanted to tell you bye before I left.”
My brain finally starts working and I reach over to turn on the bedside lamp. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re not leaving until tomorrow.”
“I decided to go back early.” Her expression changes to one I can’t place. Something is up with her. I thought she was back to herself with that bitchy little attitude she went to shower with earlier today before we went to town with Maddox and Gabby, where I again, made it clear to keep their fucking mouths shut. You don’t realize how nice a bedroom door is until you don’t have one. At this rate everyone in the damn house is going to know I’m fucking Presley’s seventeen-year-old sister, who is technically jailbait. It’s too bad that for me her pussy is good enough to risk prison. I just don’t give a shit. That’s Maddox’s biggest problem. He cares too much.
The way I see it—the good things in life have consequences. Doing bad shit is fun. If it’s appealing enough to participate in, you gotta take the bad with the good. In the end, if I’m sitting in a prison cell over something I did, I’ll have the memories of the fun I had on the way there.