Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

The pretending at the supper table isn’t the hardship. It’s sneering at her while we’re alone instead of holding her against my chest and breathing her scent in that’s the struggle.

I don’t want her here, and I don’t particularly want to be around her, but for some reason I’m drawn to her. The first night we met, the only thing that kept me from pulling her into my lap was the manners I was raised with. If Mrs. Jacobson wasn’t in the room, I’m fairly certain that’s exactly where she would’ve ended up.

I can’t even fathom where I mustered the strength not to kiss her by my truck that same night. Knowing that her lips would’ve tasted like the sweet tea she was drinking at supper and walking away from it was my own personal hell on the drive home that night.

Touching the bare skin of her leg when most of the girls at school wore dresses down to their ankles was its own kind of torture. The sight of goosebumps on her skin when all I did was press my lips to the back of her hand was hard to walk away from, but it’s my only choice.

Frances Young is here temporarily. In a couple months she’ll return to her middle-class life and never again think about the ranch hand working his ass off in Utah. Why waste my time on someone like her?

But even as I drive home, I can’t help but think of the fire in her eyes when she turned that glass of lemonade over and poured it on me. She didn’t whine and complain, or ask me why I don’t like her. She didn’t yell and threaten to tell her grandmother I’ve been mean to her. No, Frankie is going to suffer in silence, and as much as I’d rather kiss her pretty lips, I think I’ll have a lot more fun this summer seeing just how far I can push her until she breaks.Chapter 6Frankie

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell Nan as she grins up at me from the kitchen table. “I’m not exactly what you’d call mechanically inclined.”

If Zeke were in the room, he’d probably snort and mutter something about me being a city girl.

I’ve somehow endured two more long weeks of sitting at the supper table with him and Nan as he pretended that he was attracted to me. Shamefully, I did the exact same thing.

Two weeks of walking him to his truck in the evenings as he stepped close to me, making it look like we were mutually interested in each other while he whispered vile things in my ear.

After the third time he insulted me as his warm breath ghosted over my neck, I stopped listening to his words and began listening to his body. While his mouth was saying despicable things about how he could never be attracted to me and how he despised the sight of me, the gentle brush of his fingers at my back told a different story. The way he inhaled my scent every time he leaned close betrayed the vile lies that were spilling from his perfect lips.

But then again, maybe I’m delusional and building something in him that isn’t actually there.

Maybe the way I see him look up at my window, as if he’s trying to catch a glimpse of me while he’s working is a figment of my imagination created in my innate need to see something positive in him.

Maybe the way he lingers on the property long after his dad leaves for the day has nothing to do with me. Maybe the boy just doesn’t want to go home.

Regardless of his unspoken thoughts, I’m still overly cautious about today.

“It’s only a four-wheeler,” Nan says, rolling her eyes like an irritated teen. “Ezekiel will show you the ropes.”

Climbing on a death trap isn’t my idea of a good time, but knowing I’m going to be spending the day with Zeke, away from the watchful eye of my nan, makes an eerie sense of foreboding fill my blood.

The way he can torture me is endless, and I have no doubt he’s going to do his best to make sure that I know exactly where he stands by the end of the day.

“Go on now,” Nan urges. “He’s waiting for you.”

My cheeks heat as I walk toward the door on the barn side of the house. It’s as if I’m walking toward my own death. I don’t know why I haven’t spoken to my grandmother about who Zeke really is, but I know he doesn’t mistreat her. As much as I can’t stand him, he’s going to be the one around in a few months when my visit to Utah is over. She depends on him and his dad, and just because he doesn’t like me, doesn’t mean he won’t look out for her. She needs someone here on her side after I’m gone.