Page 8 of Unmasked Rivalry
He laughs. He actually fucking laughs. “Guess you met Daisy.”
“How fucking original,” I mutter. “Well,Daisyisn’t moving, and I’m not sleeping here tonight. Can you help?”
“What do I get for it?”
I mutter a curse.
He chuckles.
“I’ll be there in ten.”
The wait is excruciating. The cow has started licking her own nose, and the sound is less cute than it is unsettling. A bird flies in through a broken window, perches on a beam, and immediately shits on the ground next to me. I stare at it for a while, and for the first time in a year, I wish I could light a cigarette.
Knox arrives at the barn with headlights blazing, his boots crunching on the gravel, and when he steps through the door with a half-smile and his leather jacket, I contemplate what kind of murder would be legal in this state.
“Well fuck me, she actually pinned you,” he says, stopping for a moment to enjoy the sight before him.
“She’s blocking the way out,” I say, as if it isn’t evident. “The devil herself.”
Knox takes a step closer to the cow and gives a low whistle, and for a second I think the cow will just walk away like it’s trained, but instead, it stands its ground, unmoved. “She doesn’t like new people,” he shrugs, as if that’s the best he’s got. “You gotta show her you’re boss.”
“Well, why don’t you show me how that works,” I challenge, glaring at him.
He steps up closer, rolling his broad shoulders, and looks the cow dead on. “Piss off, Daisy,” he orders, and then—swear to God—he slaps her on the backside.
She spins around, snorting at him, and he just crosses his arms, not taking his eyes off her. Then, as if she’s bored with the entire situation, she gives a big moo and just walks out, taking her posse with her. My mouth drops open. I can guarantee if I slapped that cow, I’d be dead.
Fuck you, Daisy.
I climb off the feed bin, remembering just how filthy I am right now.
“City girl, zero,” Knox murmurs, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Farm, three.”
“Fuck you,” I grumble.
He walks me back through the paddock, arms crossed against his chest. He’s so huge next to me, an overwhelming presence, drawing my attention in a way that is deeply unfair, considering the circumstances.
“Don’t mean to be rude,” he finally says, when we reach the farmhouse. “But when was the last time you showered?”
I spin around, facing him. “I’m sorry that I’m not willing to go into a bathroom when, in the last twenty-four hours, I have been attacked by rats, a snake, and a fucking cow.”
He flashes his teeth, a grin that catches me off guard.
“You can shower at the club.”
I blink at him. “The gas station up the road is fine.”
“You seen the shower there?”
I shake my head.
“Unless you want a new disease not even a doctor can pronounce, you’ll come with me.”
“I feel like this is going to give you some sort of leverage in our bet,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
He shrugs, dropping the cigarette and crushing it out with his boot. “Suit yourself.”
He turns, and I can’t help it; I call out before he can reach his truck. “Fine, but only because I’m desperate.”
