Page 33 of Chasing Wildflowers
The question catches her off guard. Her shoulders tense, but her smile doesn’t falter. “I liked it. But I like small-town living a whole lot better.”
I don’t press. Instead, I give her a piece of me, hoping that if I open up, she will too. Eventually. “I went the opposite route. Grew up in a small town in Maine, with my mom and stepdad, before moving to New York.”
“Stepdad?”
I nod, the words already tasting sour on my tongue. “Yeah. My dad wasn’t a good guy; he treated my mom and me like shit. But a few years after he left, she met Vic,” I say slowly, each word careful. “He isn’t anything like my dad and showed me and mom what family should be.”
Lane stiffens, a small shiver running through her. It’s subtle, but I feel it through our linked hands. She looks up, her eyes holding the ghosts of the past she tries so hard to hide. “I’m glad your mom found Vic.”
I want to ask her more, to dig into the pain she keeps buried, but I can’t; not yet. Instead, I steer us toward the petting zoo.
I pay the attendant for two cups of food, handing one to Lane. “Why bartending?” I ask, the smell of hay and animals clogging my throat.
We stop at a waist-high fence, sheep and goats pushing each other out of the way in the desperate search for food. She dumps some feed into her hand and sticks it through the bars, beaming as a baby goat nibbles at it. “I needed a job when I moved here, and it was the first one I found. I didn’t plan to stay this long. But I ended up loving it.”
She doesn’t even realize that she loves it so much because of the sense of power and control it gives her, being the authority figure.
I trail behind her as she moves to the next enclosure. “I still can’t believe you are a land surveyor,” she chuckles as one of the piglets noses her boot. “You look like you should be doing something more dangerous.”
I step closer, my front pressed against her back, breath warm against her ear. “Don’t worry, baby, I have a bike back home, and I used to be a bouncer in college. Trust me, my job is the only boring thing about me.”
A shiver runs through her. She turns, her eyes glazed with lust.
“Well, isn’t this cute?” a familiar voice drawls from behind me. Lane’s eyes go wide.
Fourteen
Lane
My breath catches when I see Luke striding toward us, the hard set of his shoulders and the smug grin curling his mouth has my stomach clenching. Four of his friends are flanking him like a pack of wolves. The tension in the air makes my skin prickle, goosebumps rising along my arms.
Jameson turns, placing himself between me and Luke, the solid weight of his body grounding me. A shield of warmth and reassurance.
Luke glares at us, eyes glazed over and bloodshot. For fucks sake. Is he drunk?
“I heard you’re already spreading your legs for the next guy,” Luke sneers, his tone dripping with false bravado.
Heat rises up my face, not from shame, from the attention his words are drawing. I peek around Jameson,biting my lip nervously when I see all the families who have stopped to watch the spectacle he’s creating.
“Luke, there are families around. Keep your voice down,” I plead, my pulse hammering in my ear.
“I think you should take your friends and walk away before you embarrass yourself further,” Jameson says, his voice calm but edged with danger. The vibration ripples through me, right down to my core.
“Come on, Luke,” Brett, one of his friends, mutters, tugging at his arm. “Now isn’t the time.”
Luke pushes him off and takes a step forward, his boots grinding gravel beneath them. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this is my town. I suggest you make your visit here brief.”
Jameson takes a slow, menacing step forward, his fists clenched at his side. The cup of feed crumples beneath his fist, pieces falling to the ground at his feet. “I'm the man who is going to make her cum tonight. I’m sorry you weren’t man enough to keep that job.” Another step, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet. “Lucky for Lane, I am.”
His words hang in the humid air. Luke lunges forward, but his friends grab him, pulling him back.
He thrashes, fighting against their hold. “This isn’t fucking over!” He yells, his voice slicing through the night.
Eyes turn from Luke to us, and I shrink against Jameson, cheeks burning. I hate being the center of attention. I’ve spent years learning how to disappear.
Jameson turns, and gently lifts my chin, thumb sweeping across my jaw, eyes scanning mine. “Are you okay, Wildflower?”
I sink into his touch, my anxiety slipping away. “I’m fine. He’ll get bored eventually.”
