Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

Lately, I’ve been avoiding Zeke and his sneering, handsome face. He seems quite content to hate his life and his job, so I’ve found myself gravitating to Rowdy’s always smiling face. I’m not attracted to him, but we flirt constantly. Even though I bat my eyelashes at him and he takes every opportunity to touch my arm or the small of my back, there’s no sizzle. Nothing like the fire that ignited in me when Zeke kissed me in the truck or when he’d held my hand all those weeks ago on the front porch. I don’t get the vibe that Rowdy feels that way about me either.

Although we’re in close proximity all day long, I don’t get the feeling that he’s attracted to me or hoping that something comes of all the time we’ve been spending together. We’re comfortable, and I love that I’ve found someone like him for the remainder of my time in Utah. Nan wanted Zeke to be that guy for me, the one making me laugh and smile. After the first night I spent holding hands with him not saying a word, I found myself wanting him to be as well. But true to form, he turned into a jerk without so much as an explanation.

I kick my dirty boots off on the side steps before going into the house. Nan never complains when I track dirt in, but I don’t want to create more work for her in the morning.

The usual scent of supper is absent when I open the door, and my stomach grumbles in protest immediately. Working on the ranch is hard work, and I’ve found myself eating more in the last couple of weeks than I ever have before.

“Did you skip lunch?” I ask Nan when I step through the side door, finding her sitting at the table with her supper plate in front of her.

I know for a fact she didn’t because we had lunch together, but it’s odd to see her starting without me. We always eat together, so it’s out of character to see her already sitting down for the evening meal before I was done working. I’m not late getting in. The sun has barely begun to dip below the horizon. My eyes dart to the clock on the stove before I look back at her.

“I figured you’d eat with Zeke this evening.” She smiles, her vibrant eyes sparkling with mischief.

“With Zeke?” My brow draws in. I haven’t eaten with Zeke and he hasn’t been at our supper table for weeks. Lately, he doesn’t even stick around for lunch. We haven’t even driven to town together to get supplies for the ranch lately, giving us the opportunity to stop and grab a soda from the gas station in town.

“At the fair,” Nan clarifies.

Shit.

“That’s tonight?”

Her grin widens. “You don’t have to pretend you haven’t been looking forward to it.”

I’d rather stand in a pile of fire ants with honey coating my skin.

I don’t know what to say, and I can’t think of a lie that would appease Nan enough to drop the conversation, but Zeke isn’t going to show up here excited for our date. I don’t think he looked at me once today except for the quick good morning he tosses our direction each day. I don’t want to let her down, but the county fair hasn’t been mentioned since shortly after I first arrived. We’ve made no plans other than that initial conversation when he was pretending to tolerate me in front of my grandmother.

“Hurry up, now. Get showered.”

I blow out a puff of air before turning around to shoot up the stairs. I can pretend to leave with Zeke. If Nan heads to her room right after supper, keeping her nightly routine, I can spend a few hours hanging out in the barn with the goats until enough time has passed to be considered a good date. She doesn’t hover these days, and even though it would be shitty to let her believe otherwise, I’ve made up my mind.

After undressing, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror. I’ve never been athletic, preferring books and crossword puzzles over anything that resembles exercise, but as I turn to the side, I can easily admit I like the differences in my body since I’ve been helping around the ranch. My muscles are nothing spectacular, even when Rowdy made me flex for him the other day, they were tiny, but they’re definitely more defined than they were when school let out for summer break.

Even my legs seem stronger, the ridge of my calf more prominent when I stand on my toes.

Although gaining strength has been a plus, my work on the farm has done nothing to make me look more like a woman. My breasts are still small, and my frame makes me look like a child rather than even remotely resembling the modelesque-type girls that run the in-crowd at school.