Page 2 of Best Friends, Tennessee

He was actually wearing a cowboy hat. Since when did he start wearing cowboy hats for anything other than a costume?

“That hunk of metal made it all the way from California?” Finn asked, approaching the Beetle as I got out. “How do you even still fit in that thing?”

I sucked in a breath and shutting the driver’s side door behind me. Finn had always thought any vehicle other than a truck was too small.

We’d always had very different tastes in cars, clothes, music… everything, pretty much.

But when we were kids, somehow it seemed to matter less.

I ignored the fire in my veins. I stretched my arms up high above my head, loosening my muscles after the long trip.

“We can’t all be pickup truck-driving country boys like you,” I said, looking him up and down. “What’s with the hat?”

He tipped the front of it toward me. “I don’t know. Stetson hats are cool.”

“You look like the dollar-store version of a young Clint Eastwood.” I could tell he was biting back a smile, even as he lifted a hand to flip me off. “Save that shit for Halloween,” I told him.

I’d been lying. Kind of.

Finn did look good, even if the country-boy thing was the polar opposite of my style, and every move he made confused me these days. His build was still as muscular as it had been in high school—he needed to stay fit working as a massage therapist.

Even the hat was clearly well-made, if I was being honest.

But the whole perfect, country, Tennessee-straight-guy look just wasn’t for me, and that was Finn’s bread and butter these days.

“Well, you look like you don’t belong here,” he said, looking me over. “What’s the term? City rat?”

Under the hat, his hazel-green eyes seemed to glow in the afternoon sun. He’d always had good lashes. The girls back in high school loved that about him.

“Rat who likes being in modern civilization,” I said.

“City pretty boy,” he tossed back, squinting down at my black Italian leather boots. “Hope you’re ready to shovel horse shit with me every morning in those shoes.”

I made a face. “Don’t tell me you bought a horse.”

He sighed, rolling up the sleeves on his green flannel. “Kidding, kidding, chill out. Just trying to put some fear in your blood. I do go down to the horses at the ranch every day at six to shovel for Mason, though,” he told me. “Part of why he lets me ride for free.”

“Sounds like a great morning routine. Nice, dewy horse shit at six in the morning.”

“Fuck off,” he said, smacking me on the back. “Pop the trunk on this thing. I’ll help you bring your stuff in.”

I rounded the back of the Beetle and pried it open.

“That’s not why Mason lets you ride horses for free, by the way,” I said.

Finn eyed me, doubt in his eyes. “Think he just likes losing money?”

I lifted an eyebrow.

“No. I think Mason wants to fuck you.”

He looked away. He ignored me for a moment, but then he couldn’t let it go.

“Right,” he said, hauling out the biggest suitcase from the back. “You don’t think anyone’s nice to each other unless they’re trying to fuck. Here in Bestens, people actually still care about being kind to each other.”

“Is that why you’re so peachy-sweet to me?”

He snorted. “You’re different.” He took out another suitcase, cutting me a look. “But now you’re just another country hick like the rest of us again, aren’t you?”

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