Page 45 of Up in Smoke

Gage takes his hat off to brush the brim. I follow behind as he and Heston head to the bunkhouse for lunch.

“Mature,” Heston mumbles, “but none of your shirts have sleeves. Got it.”

“By sleeves, I assume you mean arm prisons.”

“Alright,” Gage jumps back in with a hand up like he’s testifying in court. “Maybe you’re not hitting it on the side. But that doesn’t help your case, man. If anything, I’d think you were in love with her. Fifty dollars and a flask of Crown says you’re working an angle. No shot you’re buddying up with her just for the fun of it.”

I open my mouth to encourage the bet he’ll most definitely lose when a little red bug pulls in to park next to the line of trucks out front. It fits perfectly between Heston’s black Raptor and my Bronco like it belongs there.

Mesa steps out in fucking tiny jean shorts of all things. A baby blue bandana cloaks the back of her head, and she pulls down on the front hem of her tank top. The trunk opens as she retrieves a box full of lush green plants spilling over the sides.

Cute as hell.

I curse under my breath, knowing this will spur them on. Gage claps twice and howls with deep, knowing laughter while Heston shakes his head.

I sigh and kick off my boots once we’re inside. With a hand braced flat on the door to hold it open, Mesa ducks under my arm and sweeps in, heading straight to my room.

As any man would do, I stare at her ass before remembering I can’t bite it. She just wants me to guide her through getting someone else to do it.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy, or at all possible, for me to ignore how good she looks in shorts and a skimpy top.

Fuckingjoy.

Gage lowers his voice to a whisper. “Gate code and room privileges?”

“Shut up before I hire a bus of strippers for your bachelor party and tell Blythe it was your idea.”

He presses his lips together with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t overdo it on the watering, okay?” Mesa appears from the hallway and prances to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. “I came to check on that poor cow and take a break for a little bit. Is she hanging in?”

“They’re not pets,” Heston grumbles.

She shoots him a glare. “Shut it, grumpy.”

I smirk at how she isn’t scared to push back around him anymore. She knows better than to take Heston too seriously. If she keeps putting him in his place, he’s going to get a crush on her, though. He gets off on that kind of thing. Deranged motherfucker.

I step in front of him and toss a bag of her favorite cheese-flavored chips that she catches with one hand.

“She’ll live,” I say. “What’d Hazel say about your tracker idea for the app?”

Mesa hops onto the counter of the kitchen island and crosses her feet while opening the bag in her hands. “She loved it and mentioned that psychologically, kids love that sort of thing. Seeing their progress in real time. I just need to get with Sophia on how to add it in.”

I don’t know much about plants, apps, or childhood education, but it makes sense. By not much, I mean practicallynothing at all. I liked the idea when she pitched it to me a few days ago, though. I’m not surprised it went over well.

“Little wins.”

She beams and lifts her hand to reciprocate my high-five. “Little wins.”

The fridge is stocked, and I load an armful of items to lay out on the counter. Mesa does a chef’s kiss when I hold up a bag of tortillas and lift an eyebrow in question. Wraps it is.

My eyes flick to her every few seconds as she watches me make her lunch. It hits me when she sets her chips down, leans over to steal a grape tomato, and pops it into her mouth with a smile—I can’t fucking do this.

“I’m coming over later,” I say in a lowered voice.

“Okay!” She leans back and braces her hands on the counter. “You can turn over my compost pile.”

I know she’s joking, but I don’t laugh like I normally would. After finishing her wrap that was probably thrown together way too quickly, I push the plate toward her and lift my gaze to meet hers.

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