Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

It feels kind of skeevy to stare at her like this, but my dick doesn’t get the message as it begins to thicken in my jeans. Jesus, the sight of her like this should be illegal.

“Get my legs, jerk,” she hisses, and I realize I’m no longer spraying her. I’ve pulled my thumb from the end of the hose, and it’s just running at her feet in a wide arch.

I pull my eyes away before things get out of control and continue spraying her as her hands rub over her skin and clothes to clear away most of the stains.

I expect her to question why I continue to treat her poorly, but after she’s done rinsing off, she just gets a sad look on her face and walks away, refusing to make eye contact with me. I try not to think about the confusion and pain I’m causing her. Hell, I try not to think about her at all, but then she climbs the front steps of the porch, and casually lies down in the sun, her shirt inching up to reveal the flat plains of her stomach.

I let myself imagine that she’s teasing me on purpose, that she has my number and knows exactly what it takes to derail my thoughts.

As much as I’d like to get back to work, I don’t manage to get far from her, stealing glances every chance I get until she’s dried off enough to walk through the house and no doubt get in the shower.

Just when I thought the sight of her covered in dirty water was appealing, I have to turn around and imagine her without a scrap of fabric covering her tiny frame with soap bubbles kissing every inch of her skin.

Yep, not a damn thing got done today, and I’m going to pay for that dearly tomorrow.

I skip supper with her and Mrs. Jacobson tonight, knowing that she’d see right through me when she walked me out to my truck and I couldn’t pull myself away from her the way I’ve done every other night. I planned to torture her all summer long, but it seems those tables have turned.Chapter 8Frankie

“I thought you’d love the idea.” Nan frowns as I swirl my spoon in the uneaten oatmeal in front of me.

She should know better. She should know that expecting me to once again spend the day with Ezekiel Benson doesn’t even make the list of things I want to do today, or in this lifetime for that matter, but she doesn’t because Zeke and I have been lying to her. Not directly of course, but we smile at each other and play nice in front of her. To my grandmother, everything is perfect between that jerk and me.

It couldn’t be further from the truth. The other day started out nice, just like she predicted, but then it was over. Instead of acting like a decent human being for a couple of hours, Zeke sprayed me with cow-poo water and then turned the frigid water hose on me. Being around him is only asking for misery, and I’ve never been a glutton for punishment. In fact, I avoid unpleasantness at all costs.

“Daniel isn’t feeling well today, and Ezekiel will need help in town,” Nan continues, nudging my bowl a little closer. She may not catch on about how much Zeke and I hate each other, but she doesn’t miss the fact that I haven’t had much of an appetite lately. How can I when my stomach is always in knots wondering what crap Zeke is going to pull next? “Plus, Mr. Alfred down at the feed store has been dying to meet you.”

“The feed store?” I look up at her warily.

“Yes, and Mrs. Jennings at the market knows you’re coming, too. We don’t want to disappoint the townspeople.”

I want to open my mouth and tell her that I don’t give a flip about meeting other people. I’m struggling enough to get through these long days as it is, but even though I don’t care about the citizens in her small bumpkin town, I don’t want to disappoint her.

I give her a weak smile, and when her eyebrows raise, I know I won’t be getting up from this table until the bowl in front of me is empty. With any luck, the clumpy oatmeal will irritate my stomach and I’ll puke on Zeke on the ride into town. A wicked smile stretches my lips as I lift the spoon to my mouth.

Appeased that I’m eating, Nan gets up from the table to carry her coffee cup to the sink, and I feel the air shift before I see Zeke on the other side of the room.

“How are you this fine morning, Mrs. Nanette?”

His voice is full of gravel like he just rolled out of bed, and despite my hatred for him, it still doesn’t keep the rough tone from settling deep in places I have no business even thinking about where Zeke is concerned.