Page 23 of Live, Ranch, Love

We sit in silence as I move the swing gently with my foot, both staring out at our surroundings. It’s a weirdly comforting feeling when someone else gets you. And it’s even weirder when that someone is Aurora Jones.

I should probably get going, let Aurora sleep, so I shift to start moving when I notice her breathing has deepened. I look down and there she is, eyes closed, pink lips parted, the corners tipped up ever so slightly, asleep on my shoulder. Of course she smiles in her sleep.

She’s still bathed in the orange glow of the lights, the freckles all over her golden-lit skin reminding me of the constellations I was watching seconds ago. Her waves are tucked behind her ears, save for a couple of loose ones that tumble across her cheek. I want to brush them away, but I also don’t want to move and wake her up.

She looks so happy, so peaceful, so… beautiful, goddammit.

Instead, I sit back and continue staring out at the midnight-drenched valley ahead, until I drift off to the rhythm of Aurora’s breath.

ten

Aurora

My mouth is so dry, and my bedsheets feel as hard as denim. The morning sun is far too painful as I prise my eyes open.

Hold on… why am I outside?

It takes me a few seconds to register that my bed is in fact not a bed, and instead a body. Wyatt’s body to be exact, and I’m lying across the swing with my face in his crotch.

And, unless he’s got something very hard in his pocket, his morning wood is poking my cheek.

“Shit,” I hiss as I scramble away from him, wiping the dribble off my chin.

Wyatt groans from the sudden wake up, the swing rocking until he digs his heels into the ground. He looks dazed, hair mussed, eyes a little glassy, as he also takes in the morning. In a strange way, it’s almost sexy. But it’s also Wyatt, so thinking that would be weird.

“Did we fall asleep out here?” I rub my eyes. The last thing I remember was talking on the swing together. Thank God I was wrapped in a blanket as there’s a faint, lingering chill in the air.

Wyatt shakes his head and looks at me a little stunned, eyes flicking across my face. My hair is probably a mess right now, and no doubt my make-up is smudged. Plus, I can feel the pattern his jeans have left indented on my cheek.

Redness creeps up his neck before he clears his throat. “Must have.”

An awkward silence lingers as we stare at each other. It feels like we’ve been caught doing something, but in reality we just drank a bit too much and fell asleep. We literally slept together. Never thought I’d be saying that about Wyatt.

Wyatt looks away first and stretches with another groan, arms up above his head, flexing his biceps. His T-shirt lifts, revealing the way his stomach softly tapers into a V towards his trousers.

Towards where he’s definitely straining against his jeans.

And there’s a wet mark from where—

“Oh God, I think I drooled on your dick,” I say, brain not quite fast enough yet this morning to stop the words from leaving my mouth.

“I’m sorry?” Wyatt flashes his eyes at me, a muscle feathering in his jaw, then he checks down and immediately leaps up from the swing. “Oh shit.” He turns around, trying to quickly adjust himself under his jeans.

I bite back my nerve-induced laugh. After managing to get the swing back under control, I stand up too, keeping the blanket around me. The movement sends my head throbbing.

God, they really don’t lie when they say the hangovers get worse as you get older.

I rub my temples and take in a few deep breaths of the fresh air, which wakes me up a bit more. Out of the corner of my eye, Wyatt is still wiping his face, eyelids looking heavy.

“Not a morning person, huh?” I ask, attempting a smile.

He grunts. Guess we’re back to the Wyatt Hensley I knew before we confessed our biggest insecurities to each other. Before we fell asleep cuddled up together. God, earlier this week I would’ve gagged at the image.

“Especially not when I’ve wasted hours this morning.” Wyatt groans, turning to finally face me again, and takes a step back when our eyes meet, not saying anything for a few seconds. I try to pat my hair down—maybe it’s crazier than I thought. “I have work to do. I’ll see you later.”

He doesn’t even give me a chance to respond as he spins on his heel and jogs down the stairs, off towards his house.

Just before he’s out of hearing range I call over, “Wyatt.”

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