Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

“Every day is a miracle,” she responds, smiling as he leans down to press his lips to her temple. She soaks up the attention.

Then his golden-speckled hazel eyes turn toward me, and before I know it, he’s at my side. Instinctively, I flinch when he reaches for me, and my ego swells a little when he frowns at my reaction. He may treat me like crap, but he doesn’t want me afraid of him.

What he doesn’t understand is that I’m very aware that even when his words are hateful, he’s never touched me with an unkind hand. He’s gentle when he pulls me in as we say goodbye. His hands on me while riding the four-wheeler were nothing short of a lover’s embrace.

I don’t avoid his touch because I’m fearful. I keep my distance because it’s getting hard to hide how my body responds to his even when he’s hateful.

Even though I shied away from him, it doesn’t stop him from leaning in and brushing his lips across my cheek. I do my best to hide the gasp, but when he pulls away and smirks down at me, I know he noticed. He’s run his nose up the column of my neck. He’s gripped my waist like he never wanted to let me go, but his lips have never been a part of the act. Why the change? Why now, in front of Nan does he let his lips touch me for the first time?

I’m not brave enough to ask. I can’t even meet his gaze right now. The only thing I can focus on is the zing of electricity still marking my cheek where he pressed his mouth, and I feel like a fool. I know it’s part of the act, but that doesn’t keep my heart from racing in my chest.

“I brought this for you.” Zeke holds out a worn baseball cap, and despite the apparent age of the thing, it appears to be clean. “The air conditioner doesn’t work in the truck. I figured you didn’t want your hair blowing all over the place.”

Like it did on the four-wheeler remains unsaid.

That touch wasn’t harsh either. The memory of his hands as he tried to get control of my unruly locks as we soared across the field makes a shiver run down my spine, and I hate how I react to him. I hate that he has any control of my body’s responses. I hate that even though he’s vicious more often than not, I still cling to the moments he’s unguarded and sweet.

“Thanks,” I whisper, annoyed that he’s once again put me on the spot in front of Nan.

His kindness confuses me. Acting polite and infatuated in front of my grandmother is one thing. This baseball cap required forethought and planning. Those facts aren’t lost on me.

I excuse myself from the table, turning my back to Zeke as I wash my breakfast bowl. It’s going to be a long day, but there’s no sense in putting it off any longer.

“Just a few things I need from the market,” Nan says as she hands me a list nearly as long as my arm.

I’m no stranger to grocery shopping, but I don’t see a freezer meal anywhere on this list.

“What’s a tomatillo?” I mutter as we make our way to the truck.

Like a gentleman, and no doubt anticipating Nan watching from the window, Zeke opens my door for me. It’s the heat of his palm on my back as I climb in that frustrates me, but when I turn to tell him to keep his hands to himself, I see the front curtains flutter. I smile instead. Zeke’s lips turn up as well, but the grin he displayed at the house for Nan’s sake is gone before we even make it out of the driveway.

Only the sound of the wind whipping through the cab of the truck can be heard. Zeke doesn’t say a word as we drive into town. There’s no music on the radio, and the thing looks so old I’m not sure it would get anything but AM stations if it were turned on. Thankfully, I’ve always found it easy to tune out the world around me. Today is no exception.

Instead of overthinking his lips on my face, I watch out the window as we fly by field after field.

“Shouldn’t the grass be green?”

He only grunts in response, the quick huff of air escaping through his nose.

Clearly, he isn’t in the mood to talk, so I leave him alone.

It only takes a million years to get to the feed store, and when we pull up, he doesn’t bother to say a word before climbing out of the truck and heading toward the huge roll-up door on the side.

He doesn’t need my help. Nan may think I don’t know a thing about the ranch, but if nothing, I’m observant. His dad is usually the one to come back to the ranch with the huge bags of feed, so I know this isn’t a two-person job. It’s merely another attempt for her to thrust us together again, hoping that some sort of feelings for each other will bloom. What Nan isn’t aware of is that a bloody battle is more likely.