Arrogant Devil(57)
I was biting my bottom lip.
Clutching the towel.
And then he lifted the bottom of his work shirt to wipe at some sweat on his face and Edith walked in on me, bent over the sink, eyes pinched closed as I recited what I knew of the Lord’s Prayer, which was pretty much just the first few lines. I lose track after the part about bread.
“Are you having a heart attack or something?”
“Menstrual cramps,” I lied.
“Go lie down and rest. I’ll finish drying those.”
Here’s a little secret: I let her dry the last of those dishes so I could go take a break in the shack, and I did lie down, but I didn’t rest.
I didn’t rest THREE TIMES.
I know. It’s probably a sin to not rest so soon after saying the Lord’s Prayer, but sometimes you just have to not rest right when the mood takes you.
I should feel guilty about fantasizing about my boss, but a part of me is so relieved that I’m even interested in fantasizing about anyone at this point. Andrew and I hadn’t slept together for months near the end, and before that, sex wasn’t something I took pleasure in. He was like a soul-sucking, libido-killing leech.
Now…nowwww that’s all I’m interested in.
It’s like I have an unquenchable thirst and no matter how many times I don’t rest, it never seems to sate me. I think I’ve got it under control and then Jack will say something in his gruff tone that’s meant to get under my skin, but really it just feels like a whole lot of foreplay at this point. Getting under his skin has somehow gotten tied up in my horniness neurons, so now, it’s not just fun working him up…it’s fun. I know—bad, bad Meredith. Whatever. I have problems, and I have every intention of sorting them out, just as soon as I see where this obsession with Jack could lead.
It’s Thursday, and I haven’t seen him all day. He left the ranch earlier and didn’t return until after lunch. I was down in the living room, straightening up when he walked in the front door and breezed right past me. No smile, no wave, not even a grumpy comment.
Huh.
Later, I knock on his door and ask him if I can get him anything, perhaps a snack or something to drink. He shouts back that he’s on the phone, and he sounds pissed that I’m interrupting him. I feel bad, not to mention slightly embarrassed that he sounded so put-off. Like I said, we aren’t friends, but it feels like we’ve been heading in that direction. Okay, maybe not friends in the traditional sense, but we’ve at least been dialing down the hatred to a sustainable level.
Him dismissing me is a tiny step in the wrong direction, but I shrug it off. Maybe he’s had a hard day. Maybe he’s got a burr in his saddle. (See? I really do belong in the country.)
I wait for Jack to make an appearance after his phone call ends, but he doesn’t. That burr must be wedged deep.
In the early evening, I brew a pot of decaf coffee and Edith joins me at the table with some shortbread cookies. We’re ruining our appetites for dinner, but neither one of us mothers the other. We talk about how excited we are for the wedding on Saturday and what sort of snacks we should make for yoga on Sunday afternoon. After I’ve got her really talking, I work up the courage to ask her if she’s noticed anything weird with Jack.
“Oh, and no big deal at all…just while I have you here…I was wondering if maybe, by chance…never mind—oh, do you want more coffee? Here, let me get it for you.”
She swats my hand away when I try to take her mug.
“Spit it out, woman!”
“Have you noticed anything weird about Jack lately?”
“I get less information out of him than a month-old lemon. All I know is he ate dinner out last night and he’s been gone all day.” She shifts her gaze up to me. “Is he giving you trouble again? I can knock some more sense into him—”
“No! No, it’s fine.” I smile covertly down at my coffee. “We’ve sort of come to an understanding, an equilibrium.”
“Equi-what? Y’all are getting along now?”
His tone from earlier leaps to mind. “I don’t think you’d say that exactly. It’s like when a baby tiger and a baby pig grow up together to be buddies in adulthood, but you just know deep down that it might all blow up the next time the tiger skips a meal.”
“Huh…okay. But he’s not upsetting you anymore?”
“No.” A flush warms my body. “He’s not upsetting me.”
After we finish, I clear the table and start prepping lunch for tomorrow. I’m technically off the clock, but I don’t want to go back to the shack just yet. A part of me is still hoping Jack will come down, act like his usual arrogant self, and put me out of my misery. Just one little teasing comment from him and I can go on home and keep myself occupied for the rest of the evening.
The sound of a truck pulling up out on the gravel drive takes my attention from the cutting board. That’s another thing different about the country—gravel is the universal doorbell. Alfred barks like crazy at the sound. It could be one of the ranch hands, but they all left an hour or two ago so I doubt that’s who it is. I wipe my hands with a kitchen towel and go investigate. There’s an ominous feeling in my gut, like something bad is about to happen, but when I step out onto the porch, I’m surprised and relieved to find Tucker hopping out of his truck.