Only With Me (Sugarland Creek #4)

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Waylon

M y heart sinks at missing her text last night.

Though to be fair, it was way past my bedtime.

Waylon: Morning. I’m so sorry for not seeing your text until now. I was already asleep. But if you wanna chat tonight, I’ll be up late.

I mentally slap my forehead at what a douche I must sound like, but surprisingly, she responds right away.

Poison Ivy Girl: Hey, don’t worry about it! I didn’t realize how late it was and figured you were sleeping.

Poison Ivy Girl —the not so creative name I gave her so I can keep track of her in the group thread.

Waylon: How’s the itch doing today?

Poison Ivy Girl: It’s turned into blisters…I’m in hell.

Waylon: Oh shit. I know that’s painful.

Poison Ivy Girl: I woke up feeling the burning and immediately took a cold shower. Now I’m covered in calamine lotion and trying not to cry about how much this sucks.

Fuck . I feel so bad for her.

Waylon: I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m off to work, but I’ll check in during my breaks.

I should ask what her name is and how old she is, but the last thing I want to sound like is a creepy old guy who’s trying to hit on her.

But it’s more than that.

My family’s well-known in Sugarland Creek and as soon as I tell her my name, she’ll have all these preconceived notions about who I am—most of them linked to Wilder. Based on what she’s heard or sees about me online could override everything I’ve shared with her.

Which honestly, hasn’t been too much, but more than I’d typically share with a stranger.

I’d rather let her get to know me outside of what everyone thinks they know before we exchange names.

She could also decide once she finds out who I am that she wants nothing to do with me. Even as friends.

And that’d suck.

It’s not easy making friends outside of being Wilder’s babysitter and working ten-to-twelve-hour days.

Instead of dwelling on it, I make some coffee and get my ass to work. Wilder’s on time for once, so I don’t have to rush through mucking my half of the stalls and we get done early.

“Wanna grab some breakfast before the first tour?” he asks.

“Sure.”

The downtime will give me the chance to catch up on the group chat. The last time I checked my notifications, there were another dozen or so.

We take my truck to The Lodge and find Tripp and Magnolia sitting at a table with my two-year-old niece, Willow.

“Hey, kiddo. Whatcha eatin’?” I rest my palms on the table next to her.

She does her best to say scrambled eggs and sausage.

“Can I have some?” I tease, but she sticks out her fork with a piece of meat, so I playfully bite it. “Mmm. That’s good.”

“Get your own food and quit stealin’ my kid’s,” Tripp scolds.

I snicker at how grumpy he is. Considering their son’s only a few months old, he’s probably not getting a full night’s sleep.

“Where’s Laken?” He’s usually attached to Magnolia’s chest.

“Mom and Gramma Grace are watchin’ him this mornin’ since Willow has a doctor’s appointment,” Magnolia explains.

“Doctor? Is she okay?” I ask.

“She’s fine. It’s just a wellness check, but I thought it’d be easier only bringin’ one. This way we’re not jugglin’ ’em both while answerin’ questions.”

“Gramma Grace was more than happy to babysit anyway,” Tripp adds. “She nearly pushed us out the door before we could even say goodbye.”

I laugh because I’m not surprised.

She’s our mom’s mother and has lived with our parents in the main house since our grandfather passed away eight years ago. She loves to bake and scrapbook with us.

She’s also known for her witchcraft of always knowing everyone’s secrets.

Wilder and I head to the buffet and fill up our plates. Now I won’t have to eat lunch and can maybe get ahead on my to-do list.

Once we’re at the table, I pull out my phone and read through some of the conversations the group chat is having.

Someone asked about a trick-riding saddle. Apparently, they want to learn and make sure they get the best kind.

Before I can type out a reply, she responds with a specific brand that I would’ve recommended too based on what I know Noah uses.

Poison Ivy Girl: Just make sure you know what you’re doing on it or your ass will look like mine.

Unknown #4: What do you mean?

Instead of a text response, she sends a photo.

Of her ass in a pair of lace see-through panties.

And her skin is covered in bruises. Not only her ass cheeks but her upper thighs, too.

My eyes expand at how revealing the photo is, and I nearly choke on the piece of bacon I just stuffed in my mouth.

What the hell is she doing?

Poison Ivy Girl: Safe to say, I fell…a lot. And it was painful.

For how dark the bruises are, I wonder if she fell on cement or even stayed on the horse at all.

Jake: DAT ASS THO. Never missed a glutes day, have ya?

Oh my God, I want to kill him.

Poison Ivy Girl: You act like you’ve never seen an ass in a bikini before.

She has a point but still…this is a close-up shot I don’t think any of us were expecting.

Unknown #5: Bruised or not, that’s a fine-looking ass!

Whoever that dipshit is added a peach emoji with a tongue.

Fucker .

Gretchen’s Owner: Damn. I didn’t know it looked that bad. But everyone’s right, you have a nice booty!

That’s the girl who had the horse with the nail in its hoof. I changed her contact too so I could start keeping track of which number belongs to who.

Poison Ivy Girl: Yeah, they take forever to heal too. I couldn’t sit on my horse comfortably for two weeks.

Gretchen’s Owner: Two weeks? You need to do some at-home remedies to help them heal faster. Like cold and hot compresses or even Arnica gel.

Unknown #4: Spend one night with me and you wouldn’t sit for a month, baby…but for a whole different reason.

Then the dipshit sends a winking emoji, and I want to reach through the phone and strangle him.

His new contact name is Perverted Asshole .

Gretchen’s Owner: Shut up, dumbass.

Perverted Asshole: Or what?

Gretchen’s Owner: She could snap you like a twig and you know it.

Oh, he’s scrawny. Good to know . He just got a name upgrade.

Scrawny Perverted Asshole: Ooh, keep talking naughty. You know I like that.

I roll my eyes at his gross attempt at flirting and decide it’s better if I ignore him— for now . My concern is how bad her bruises look and if that’s normal for her.

Waylon: Do you always bruise like a peach?

I’ve had my fair share of falls, Noah too, and I don’t think either of us has had bruises look that bad.

Poison Ivy Girl: Yeah, ever since I was a teenager. It doesn’t take much. Just bumping into something will cause a bruise to form.

Waylon: That’s not normal. This might sound weird, but you might have a vitamin K deficiency, which is why your blood isn’t clotting the way it should be.

Poison Ivy Girl: Actually, that makes sense. I was put on blood thinners for a couple years when I was thirteen. I’ll call my doctor to do some lab work when this damn rash goes away.

Great, now I have more questions than answers about why she was on blood thinners at such a young age, but I’m glad she’s willing to get it checked out.

“Waylon!” Magnolia’s loud voice startles the shit out of me, and I drop my phone.

“What?”

Looking up, Tripp and Wilder are laughing at me.

“I’ve been tryin’ to get your attention for five minutes. Who the hell are you talkin’ to?” Magnolia lifts a brow. “A girl?”

“None of your damn business.”

I lock my phone and shove it into my pocket.

“That confirms it.” Tripp smirks. “Who is it?”

“It’s a group chat my friend Jake added me into. They just talk about random horse or ranch stuff, mostly,” I explain.

“So Jake’s makin’ you all flustered like that?” Wilder taunts, kicking my boots underneath the table, and I kick him back.

“Fuck off. There’s a handful of people in there, and I don’t even know any of ’em besides him.”

“So why’re you in there then?” Magnolia asks.

“I read through it from time to time and sometimes reply to messages.” I shrug, hoping they don’t push for more.

“Hm…I dunno. You’re actin’ weird, which means it’s way more than that.” Magnolia narrows her eyes skeptically, and I grab my fork to continue eating.

“Anyway, what did you want?” I ask, hopefully changing the subject.

“Just that we were leavin’ and your niece wanted a hug goodbye.”

I look over at Willow and then pick her up so she can wrap her little arms around me. “Be good for your mommy and daddy, okay? Make sure to get a sticker and a sucker from the doctor.”

“A sucker!” Her eyes light up like the Fourth of July.

“Thanks, man…” Tripp deadpans.

I grin. “Anytime.”

Once the three of them leave, Wilder and I finish eating, then head to the retreat barn to get the horses ready for the first tour of the day.

It takes everything in me not to text her as soon as I get home and clean up. I like talking to her even though I can’t explain why. There’s this… energy . This pull has me checking my phone way more than I ever have before.

Not wanting to come off weird or creepy is what stops me from randomly messaging her, but then she’s the one who texts me first the following day.

Poison Ivy Girl: So I mentioned the vitamin K thing to my mom and she says she bets you’re correct based on my previous health issues. If that’s the case, you’re basically my hero.

Waylon: I like the sound of that. What do I win if I’m right?

Poison Ivy Girl: Win? Is saving my life not enough of a prize?

Waylon: Of course, assuming you’re not some seventy-year-old grandma who’s knitting a voodoo doll of me.

Poison Ivy Girl: Dammit, you caught me.

Waylon: Nice ass for your age, then.

I smack my forehead as soon as my brain catches up to what I’ve typed out. But it’s too late because I already hit send. Real smooth .

Poison Ivy Girl: Why thank you. Lots of anti-aging and firm cream. But now you gotta show me yours.

Waylon: My ass?

Poison Ivy Girl: Fair is fair.

Waylon: I didn’t ask to see yours in the first place.

Poison Ivy Girl: But you still looked.

Waylon: Not on purpose.

Poison Ivy Girl: The bruising looks much better now, in case you wondered.

Dammit, I was.

Waylon: Is that so?

Poison Ivy Girl: I’ll prove it.

Just as I’m about to send another message stating I’ll take her word for it, she sends me a photo.

Of her ass in a bikini.

I nearly choke on my saliva.

Jesus Christ.

What am I supposed to say to that?

Waylon: I think you’re lying about your age.

Poison Ivy Girl: What makes you say that?

Waylon: That’s too perfect of an ass for anyone over forty.

Oh God, why did I type that?

Better yet, why did I send it?

Now I’m no better than Scrawny Perverted Asshole.

Poison Ivy Girl: And now you’ve seen it twice. So your turn.

Waylon: Against my will!

Poison Ivy Girl: HAHAHA you poor baby.

Waylon: Okay, fine. I’m all about equality, so here ya go…

And then I send her a photo of a donkey.

Poison Ivy Girl: Wow… hairier than I expected but cute nonetheless.

Waylon: Cute and hairy, I’ll take that.

Poison Ivy Girl: Gonna be disappointed if you’re ugly and hairless.

The fact that she has the same humor as me makes me even more curious about her.

“Who the hell has you blushin’ like a teenage girl who just met her pop idol?”

Wilder’s voice grabs my attention, and my gaze follows him from my kitchen to help himself to a beer and then to the living room where he promptly plops his ass in my recliner.

“Do you ever knock?”

“What for?” He pops the tab of the can. “Even if I did, you wouldn’t have heard me with how lost in your phone you were.”

“I was not.” I lock and pocket it to prove a point. “What’re you doin’ here anyway?”

“Let’s go out tonight.”

“No, thanks.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“I worked all day and am tired.”

I’m also hanging out with Bentley tomorrow afternoon and don’t want to be dragging ass after work.

“That’s never stopped you before. Plus, Ashley’s gonna be there and she wants to hook up.”

That sounds more painful than having poison ivy.

“And how did you hear that?”

“She told me.”

“Then you hook up with her. I’m not interested.”

“Been there, done that.”

“Dude.” My upper lip curls in disdain. “Then why would I wanna be with her?”

He shrugs like the carefree asshole he is. “Why not? She was a decent lay. She has a Daddy kink, though, just FYI.”

“And we’re done talkin’ about this.” Nothing against her preferences, but I wasn’t interested before I knew and still not after.

I stand and walk to the kitchen for a beer since the freeloader didn’t even bother to get me one.

“I’m stayin’ in, so you’re gonna haveta go without me,” I tell him when I return to my spot on the couch.

“You’re no fun.”

“Why don’t ya stay in and…oh, I dunno…get more than four hours of sleep?”

“Sounds lame.”

Defeated, I roll my eyes and grab the TV remote. “Well, call me when you need a ride.”