Page 41 of For Fillies and Monsters

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…

Opening my eyes, disappointment floods through me. Gus’s smile is gone, burned away with the scowl that now rests across his dark face. I should be happy and relieved. But I’d be a fucking liar if I said I am.

“Where the hell are you going?” he growls, catching me off guard. I look down at my outfit and wince. I had hoped he wouldn’t see me.

I look up at him again, waving my hands toward his face. “See? That look. That’s the only one I’m comfortable with. This one means you don’t like me. The other one…”

“Don’t like you? I thought we agreed we were going to be friends. Don’t friends typically like each other?”

“Well, yes.”

“Good, now that we’ve effectively established that I like you, where are you going?” I shiver at the dominance lacing his voice. I don’twantto like it, I don’t want to respond to it.

“Out.”

“Clearly. Where?” He bites out each word like they are physically causing him pain, and I cringe. I don’t want to hurt him. I just can’t be attracted to him. Or at least, I can’t be attracted to him and be in the same room as him. I need this to be professional. I need the ranch to get better. And I can’t do it if I’m chasing him around like a dog in heat.

“He didn’t say.”

“He, who?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business. Not really. I don’t have to tell my friends everything.” I don’t mean for it tocome out so pissy—honestly, I’m trying to be sympathetic, yet firm. I don’t want him to walk all over me. I’ve spent too many years letting people do that. But I have an irrational need to please him, to make him happy.

“Hmm.” He leans against the counter now, that unbothered facade snapping into place, and thatdoespiss me off. How can he turn off his emotions so quickly? What does he actually feel?

“Yep.” I pop the ‘p’ and head toward the door. I have to get out of here, before I do something stupid, like stay, just to see what he will do then. I hate that he makes me want to break my own rules.

Break them, and then beg for forgiveness, too.

“So, Nathan?”

I don’t bother confirming his assumption; he already knows.

“Just so you know, I fucking hate controlling men.” I don’t know why I say it, only that I have to further drive this wedge between us before I completely lose control.

“And I hate fierce, independent women. Really chaps my ass when they work hard to make something of themselves.” He steps toward me, his voice hollow, face devoid of a single emotion. But his eyes flicker with unspent rage, and I don’t know whether to hide from him or climb him. “I hate when they aren’t ashamed of who they are, and how fucking beautiful that makes them.”

I feel like the air is being vacuumed from the room. My heart is no longer racing—it’s come to a deathly halt. I feel hot; my skin prickles with electricity.

My eyes trace his dark face hungrily, searching for any crack in his composure, any clue that he is talking about me. I don’t want to say I’m desperate, but I’d trade my soul to know he thought those things about me.

In the blink of an eye, he steps back, running his hand through his curls, pushing them out of his face. “Cool, well, havefun.” He says it so nonchalantly, so carefree, and I feel my heart plummeting to the pit in my stomach.

“That’s it?” My voice wobbles, and I hate it. I hate myself for asking. But he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even turn around as he strides right back out the front door.

SIXTEEN

AUGUSTUS

April 12th, 2024

The smellof popcorn and stale human sweat assaults my nostrils, floating toward me on the humid Texas breeze, and I helplessly watch Nathan follow along behind Stetson, into the small, one-room theater. His nose is buried in his cell phone, and he barely lifts his head long enough to pay for the movie. If he hadn’t, I don’t think I’d have been able to stop myself from stomping over there and smashing his face in.

It’s so fucking predictable that he would bring her somewhere where he doesn’t have to talk or acknowledge her existence. Why does he bother? I don’t think he or Stetson are interested in the other, so why do they keep putting on the lamest rendition of the world’s most horrible dates?

I slam my palm against the wheel, my irritation reaching a boiling point. Everything about Nathan is wrong for her—the most obvious point being he isn’t me. And no one will be with Stetson that isn’t me. We’ve done that song and dance, and I am fucking over it.

It’s impossible to be around Stetson and not want her, touch her, take her. And it’s even more impossible to want her, touchher, take her and not expose every single thought or feeling I have for her.

---