Mr. So Wrong Read online

  “Good morning, darling,” I say because I’ve grown to like the fact that the folks around here call each other darling.

  Sam groans and holds her head. “Oh! What the fuck did I do?” She covers her face with her hands, and she won’t look at me.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” I ask softly, trying to hide the alarm from my voice. We had a hot kiss followed by a very intimate conversation. That’s it.

  “I fucked up is what happened. I made a fucking scene kissing you last night. Or should I say shoving my tongue down your throat.” She snickers as if it was a bad thing.

  “You don’t hear me complaining, Princess.” I sit up in bed and look at her. She eyes me out of the corner of her eye.

  “I’m no princess.” She gives me a look that says she thinks I’m crazy. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. Don’t go getting any crazy ideas.” She turns to me and lifts her pointer finger close to my face.

  “Um … okay then. You’re a grouch in the morning. I get it.” I stand up from the bed. “I’ll go get you some juice and pills.” I hate seeing her feel sick, but I’m glad to have the chance to take care of her. I quickly adjust my morning wood because having her pressed up against me doesn’t help my situation. She turns her head and her eyes drop to my crotch and both her eyebrows raise. Let’s just say that I’m well endowed. “Sorry.” I apologize, figuring it’s the polite thing to do.

  “Don’t apologize for that,” she answers and a laugh bubbles out of my chest. I nod my head and leave the room.

  Trying to understand Sam is pointless. She’s filled with mixed signals. I wonder how many women have had that thought about me.

  Farmer Joe isn’t around. I rummage through the fridge and pull out the orange juice. I grab two tall glasses and fill them to the rim. I gulp my own glass down fast. As I place my cup on the counter, I see a note addressed to Sam.

  Sam,

  Gone hunting. Be back before Christmas.

  Dad

  Farmer Joe is a man of few words, and his note isn’t any different. Christmas is a week away. Which means Sam and I have this place all to ourselves for an entire week. I grab the bottle of ibuprofen sitting on top of the fridge and head back to her room with the orange juice in my other hand.

  I pass her the glass of OJ. “Drink up.” She nods and takes the glass from me. She swallows two pills with the juice then groans. “Shit! This is the worst part of drinking. I hate being hungover. You’d think I’d learn my lesson by now.” I stand quietly and watch her. I’d like to get in her head and figure out why she does this to herself. She puked all over her truck last night. It doesn’t seem like a first either. She looks up to me, waiting a beat, then says, “Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest. “What is it you want me to say?”

  Her lip quirks at the corner. “I don’t know. Give me a lecture about drinking too much … something.”

  “Sorry, babe.” I shrug. “Nothing to say. Why would I want to lecture you? I don’t know you all that well. I don’t know why it is you drink the way you do. My best friend back home used to be on my case about drinking too much, hooking up too much. I just found his lectures annoying.”

  “So, you didn’t stop?” She looks up to me and an emotion passes over her face. I don’t know what it means.

  “I’m not proud of it, but no,” I admit. “You found me in a car in the middle of a snow storm, completely comatose because I took a sleeping pill. That doesn’t say much about me, now does it?” I look down at her and say, “Get up. I’m going to make you breakfast.” I get ready to leave the room when I remember I put the note her dad left in the pocket of my sweats. “A note from your dad. He’s gone hunting.”

  She scoffs and crumples the note in her hand. “Look, Al, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m fine if you stay here, but that kiss last night was a one-time deal.”

  “That’s fine by me, Princess. Rest a little longer. I’ll go make us some breakfast.” I wink and turn out of her room. I get a week with Sam. The thought makes me happy. I just don’t know what’s going to happen once the week is over. She may think she’s immune to my charm, but she isn’t. I want to bed her, I want my face buried between her thighs. She may think last night was a one-time deal, but it won’t be if I have anything to do with it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sam

  While Al goes off to make breakfast, I head to the bathroom. I bring my cell phone with me since I noticed I have messages from Blake, Austin, and Mack. I listen to my voicemail first.

  “Hey, babe, I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Blake’s raspy voice comes through the phone. I erase the message and send him a text.

  Me: All good. Got a headache. Comes with the territory.

  Blake: We need to talk.

  Me: Soon.

  Blake: Okay.

  Now that Blake knows Al is staying with me, he isn’t going to be pleased to say the least. He’s tried to get me to commit to him many times since he came back from his short stint at college. I don’t want commitment. He has no choice but to accept that.

  I glance over at Austin’s message. He’s always been more laid back and less demanding, more supportive.

  Austin: How you feeling, sunshine?

  I smile, thinking about the Texas drawl he’s picked up living there these past number of years. He was always a good friend. He never pressured me.

  Me: Rough morning. All is good. How long you in town for?

  I wait a few moments, but he doesn’t answer. He probably isn’t awake yet.

  I read the message from my sister.

  Mack: How are you? We need to discuss Christmas.

  I place my phone on the counter, get undressed, and step into the warm shower.

  As I recall the events of last night, I remember Austin, Blake, and Al coming face to face. That was seriously messed-up. Both Blake and Austin know about each other. I began hooking up with Blake in high school. Austin and I began hooking up after high school. Blake went off to college by then, and Austin and I had become good friends as per Mack’s request. Austin is a good guy. He comes home some weekends to visit his family since they’re tight-knit. He’s pre-med at the University of Texas. We still hook up on occasion when he makes it home. As I rub soap all over my body, I can’t help but think that none of those men get my heart racing like Al.

  As I run my hands over my tired body, I get turned on thinking of Al. The shirt he wore last night was casual and fit snugly over his arms and chest, showing how defined his muscles truly were. I spotted Al at the bar before he saw me. Then we were dancing together and even though he danced like a city guy, our bodies shared a rhythm all its own. And when we kissed, I felt like I could combust. I choose the men I sleep with. I choose to stay here on the ranch with my jerk of a father. I choose to drink the alcohol I drink. What I haven’t chosen is my attraction to Al. The intensity seems to have crept up on me out of nowhere. It’s electric, new, and exciting, but it’s more than that. When I look into his eyes, I see a man that has lost his way and it’s something I can identify with. There’s so much I want to know about him that it makes my head spin.

  I exit the shower and head back to my bedroom, slip on a pair of yoga pants, a bra, and a white thermal shirt. The cows don’t need to eat since we stocked things up yesterday, and the shit can wait. I run a brush through my hair, which takes a whole of ten seconds with my short hair, and head out to the kitchen.

  Austin messages me back.

  Austin: Heading back out tomorrow. You take care and try to stay out of trouble. If you need me call.

  Me: Thank you XOXOXO

  Austin is sweet. A part of me wants to be madly in love with him, but it just never came.

  Smoke is rising from a frying pan as Al works frantically to contain it. I wrap my arms in front of my chest and a slow smile curves my lips. I figure I’ll let him squirm a little before offering some help. Besides, it’s a mighty fine vie
w with him in a simple white T-shirt and dark sweatpants hanging low on his waist. He must work out a lot to have such a defined round ass.

  “Oh, hey.” He turns his head. “When I offered to make you breakfast, I should have mentioned I’m a terrible cook,” he chuckles.

  I walk over to the stove and look down at the pan. He’s frying the sausages we got in the supermarket. “That doesn’t look half bad, but I think they’re ready.” I head over to the cabinet and grab a plate. He pours them on the plate along with globs of oil.

  “I tried making pancakes, but fucked up.” His lips twist in a wry smile, and he shows me the plate sitting on the opposite side of the counter. I swallow hard like I have an apple lodged in my windpipe. As a little girl my favorite breakfast was links and pancakes. It’s the last breakfast my mother made me the day she died. I eat pancakes and sausage but never together. I can’t. Al wouldn’t know any of this. He holds the charred pile of pancakes in front of me, and I don’t know what happens … I choke up. I try to hold back my sniffles. Mack knows never to give me sausage and pancakes together for breakfast, but how could Al have known? Tears begin to fill my eyes. Al is just trying to be kind and make me a nice meal. I take off toward the bedroom like a crazy girl.

  I hear Al mutter to himself that he needs to learn how to cook. He thinks I’m upset he burned the pancakes. I run to my bed, throwing myself on top, as I sob into the blankets. What is wrong with me? Enough time has passed for this wound to have healed over somewhat and it has. I get by. I don’t spend my days crying, that’s for sure. There will always be a part of my heart that misses Mom dearly, but days go by, and I don’t even think of her anymore. For some reason that thought saddens me too. A soft hand at my back pulls me from my thoughts. He’s hovering above me, his presence soothing.

  “I’m sorry. I’m usually not such a flaky mess,” I apologize. How do I explain my reaction?

  “Hey, what just happened?” he asks. “I know I need to learn how to cook better. I’m just glad I didn’t burn down the kitchen because Farmer Joe would shoot me.”

  It dawns on me he just called my father Farmer Joe. I lift my head off the bed since I had it buried in the blanket and give him a questioning look. He looks a little wide eyed and embarrassed.

  “I said that out loud didn’t I?” His hand runs over his morning scruff along his jaw. It’s a beautiful manly jaw.

  I nod my head and burst out laughing. If Papa ever heard him calling him a farmer, he would have the shotguns out because he’s a rancher not a farmer. Big fucking difference. I laugh so hard I curl into a ball, holding my belly. Al starts laughing too and comes to lie beside me on the bed. We both laugh so hard the tension releases. I finally catch my breath, and Al turns to face me on the bed. He takes a finger and swipes at my tears.

  “Do you normally laugh and cry at the same time?” he asks, and his small smile is so sexy it warms my chest.

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m usually not emotional at all.” I pause because an awkward feeling runs over my body. I want to tell Al the reason I am so emotional. Something is wrong. I’ve never wanted to spill my secrets to another human the way I want to spill them now. I don’t know if it’s his penetrating gaze or the lonely looks we seem to share, but something hangs between us, giving me the worst case of verbal diarrhea I’ve ever experienced. “That was the last breakfast my mother ever made me. Pancakes and Sausage. Together,” I finally croak out.

  “Shit.” His head drops for the briefest of moments before he picks it up and wraps both his arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Sam,” he says, holding me close.

  His words breathe life into my broken heart. I don’t know why. I’ve been held by a man before, but this feels different, and it’s not just his heavenly manly smell of cologne and his distinct scent. It’s something else too.

  “Has she been gone long?” he asks.

  “Since I was nine,” I answer, and he stays quiet, but I can see the balls rolling in his head. He’s probably wondering how a man like Papa could ever raise a kid. “I have an older sister. She took care of me,” I explain. He nods like he understands now. “Papa was the breadwinner. Mack made sure I showered and brushed my teeth.”

  “My nannies made sure I brushed mine. My parents didn’t actually parent,” he responds. It wasn’t the response I was expecting, but I appreciate the fact that he doesn’t pity my situation.

  “They were too concerned with their social standing. Mom was the lady of the house. Her job was to look pretty and host dinner parties. My father is a business mogul. He runs a very big company.” I can’t help but notice that he looks away from me, moving his gaze to the window, when speaking of his father.

  “That explains the fancy clothes and pointed shoes.” I laugh because it’s fun to play with him.

  “Hey.” He tackles me and begins to tickle me under my ribs. It makes me crazy, and I begin to squirm. We begin a little wrestling match.

  “My pointed shoes are Prada and very much in style.” He laughs, trying to pin my arms over my head.

  “Whatever you say, City.”

  “Stop calling me that. Your father gave me that name, and I don’t like it.” He huffs and he finally pins my arms above my head. Somehow our wrestling match goes from playful to heated when he pauses, hovering over me. His light blue eyes hold mine. I swallow hard and his gaze drops to my lips. I want him to kiss me, and I want to push him away all at the same time.

  “Sam?” he says my name like a question. I know he’s truly asking for permission to kiss me.

  “Yes?” It’s a question too.

  “I’m leaving soon.”

  “I know.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs, and the warning look he gives me makes me think he’s trying to get in my head. Good luck.

  “I don’t do relationships,” I assure him. I told him last night wasn’t going to be a repeat. Just because we tend to drift together, and there seems to be this magnetic pull between us, doesn’t mean we need to pursue anything.

  “And why’s that?” he asks. My hands are still being held above my head. He is still hovering close. He isn’t putting his full weight on me, but we are both breathing hard.

  “I’ve never wanted to be attached to one man.”

  “I say the same thing about women,” he retorts, and it makes the air in the room shift because in some ways I’m looking at a male version of myself.

  Silence follows. He releases my hands and rolls off me to my side. I’m disappointed and relieved all at once.

  “Come.” He stands up from the bed. “I’m throwing those pancakes in the garbage and making you a spinach omelet.” He extends his hand to me to help me up.

  I don’t give him my hand just yet because I need to get my emotions in check. I try to remember what he just said. Spinach omelet. “Ew. Gross. That sounds too healthy.”

  “Don’t diss it until you try it.” He winks.

  “You can make me a plain omelet,” I concede and give him my hand. He gently pulls me up off the bed and straight into his body. He wraps his arms around me in a hug and his nose brushes into my hair. For fuck’s sake, he’s wearing me down.

  “I can make you an omelet, but you need to teach me how.” His voice is so deep and husky when he says it that I replace his words with I want to fuck you till you’re sore.

  I shake my head to clear my dirty thoughts. “You’d never survive in the wild.”

  “That’s why I’m thankful you saved me.” He grins, looking down at me, and it would help if his gaze didn’t bounce back and forth between my eyes and lips. He hugs me even tighter then releases me.

  I want to tell him I’m thankful I saved him too, but I don’t because I don’t want him to know that I like having him here. I don’t want to tell him I feel less lonely. Guys like him run at the first sign of a girl falling for them. I know his kind because he’s me. Only difference is this time I don’t want to run. I want to chase. It goes against every basic instinct in my body. What I truly want
is for him to chase me, because if he does, I’d be a goner and I wonder what my life would look like then. Probably better than the shit storm I live with on a daily basis.

  I don’t answer his comment about saving him. I just run my hand along his jaw and say, “Let’s eat some food, City. I’m starving.”

  He nods for me to follow him, and we leave my bedroom. Our heated moment is left behind.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Al

  “What can we do today?” I ask, thinking we’d spend the day together. She stands up from the table and walks over to the coffee maker for more coffee. “Well, assuming you don’t have plans already,” I stammer because why would I assume she would spend her free time with me?

  “No, I don’t really have plans. Sometimes I meet friends at the diner for lunch on Saturdays and hang out. I need to take the tractor to Slims and get it checked out. I’m pretty sure Papa didn’t have a chance to get it fixed before he left,” she says. I would have thought her dad might have mentioned that I fixed it, but he obviously didn’t.

  “Oh … uh … the tractor is fixed,” I say curtly.

  Her brows dip and she smiles. “What do you mean?”

  “I fixed it.”

  She laughs. “No … seriously.”

  “I did. I swear.” I lift my left hand.

  “No offence but how would you know how to fix a tractor?” she asks, and I contemplate how to answer that. I like being a no one in this little town, being respected for who I am and the work I do and not immediately judged because of my last name, which I know I should have changed a long time ago.