Only With Me (Sugarland Creek #4)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Waylon

TWO WEEKS LATER

Waylon: What’s next on your romance wish list?

Poison Ivy Girl: Hmm…you’ll make fun of me for it.

Waylon: I’d never. I told you one of mine even though it was embarrassing.

W e’ve been going back and forth on random things we’d like to do or have in a relationship before we’re forty. Considering that’s only eight years away for me, my list has me in a bit of a mental tailspin.

I don’t know how old she is, but after some of her answers and getting to know her little by little, I’d guess in the twenty-five to thirty range.

Poison Ivy Girl: Yours wasn’t embarrassing! But fine…

She sends a melting-face emoji, and I chuckle.

Poison Ivy Girl: Dancing at sunset in front of headlights. I saw it in a movie once and it looked so sweet and romantic.

Waylon: I love that! And then your favorite music plays on the radio, and if you’re lucky, it starts to rain in the middle of the song.

Poison Ivy Girl: Wait a minute…are you a closet romantic?

I snort.

Waylon: Maybe. But truthfully, it’s been a while since my last girlfriend, so who knows if I even have it in me anymore.

“Dude, pay attention.” Wilder snaps his fingers between my phone screen and my face.

I snap my gaze to his.

Furrowing my brows, I lock my phone. “What?”

“Why’re you so glued to your phone lately?” Landen asks, nudging me before I walk into something. The airport is packed with hundreds of people leaving after the NFR. “Especially at seven in the morning.”

“None of your business.”

He rolls his eyes. “C’mon, I tell you everything, so share with the class.”

“Yeah,” Wilder agrees, though he’s still drunk from the night before, so I doubt he cares.

Wilder and I flew into Vegas three days ago to watch Ellie crush the barrel racing competition. Landen’s been here for nearly two weeks since the event is ten days long, but he’s flying home with us since Ellie’s driving the horse trailer back with Noah and Fisher.

Even being away from the ranch for a few days feels foreign. Once we’re back, we’ll be working even longer days to catch up. But it was worth it to see her win the championship and get away from the ranch for a bit.

When the three of us make it to our gate, there’s already a line for boarding.

“It’s a chick, ain’t it?” Wilder continues.

“Technically, it’s a group chat. But there’s one in here who always flirts with me,” I admit, except I leave out the part where we’ve been texting each other separately for weeks. On Friday nights, we stay up and text until one of us passes out. But I’m not adding more fuel to their nosiness by giving them any extra information.

“What kind of group chat?” Landen asks.

“My friend Jake added me to this horse club he’s in. They mostly talk about random shit, horses, and some rodeo stuff.”

“A horse club ? Are you sure that ain’t code for something else…” Wilder taunts, waggling his brows.

I punch his arm and he snickers.

“Sounds suspicious to me…” Landen adds.

I scoff. “Fuck off, it’s not.”

“Do y’all have a code word?” Wilder asks. “Big Donkey Schlong or Monster Horse Dick.”

Landen elbows Wilder, fighting back laughter. He knows he’s purposely annoying me.

“What would you know about big dicks anyway?” I muse, and Landen cracks up.

Wilder puffs out his chest. “I dunno…why don’t you ask your ex-girlfriend? She’s seen it…”

Landen’s eyes grow wider as he looks between us, probably wondering if I’m going to kick his ass in the middle of the airport walkway.

“Stay away from Delilah, you fucker,” I demand as we make our way to our seats.

“What? She wanted an upgrade…”

I’m almost tempted to shove him on his ass. Not because I want Delilah but because he’s being a dick.

“Ooookay…” Landen drawls. “If I have to sit next to y’all on the plane for the next four hours, save the ass kickin’ for when we get home.”

Landen sits in the middle seat while I take the aisle and Wilder hogs the window.

I didn’t get the chance to reply to Poison Ivy Girl’s last text, so I take out my phone to respond before takeoff.

“So tell me about the girl who flirts with you,” Landen asks, leaning closer and interrupting me. “What’s her name?”

“I dunno. I only see her phone number.”

“Y’all didn’t do introductions or anything?”

“No, Jake didn’t do that. I was added in after they already formed it and they were mid-conversation. When someone said something I could help with, then I chimed in. And it just went from there…”

He doesn’t need the details about when she showed off her ass bruises and me asking about them.

“Well, you’ve got her number, don’t ya? Just text her and say, Hey, I’m Waylon from the group chat. What’s your name?”

A little too late for that.

“That sounds so high school.”

He arches a brow. “Asking a girl for her name?”

Nah, just asking her a month after we’ve been talking. The moment I admit we’ve been having full-on private conversations, he’ll never let it go and tell our siblings so they can give me a hard time, too.

“I’ll think about it.” I shrug.

“Is she local?”

“I think so.” Based on her knowing parts of the area, I assume she is anyway.

“Well, lemme see her number. Maybe I’ll recognize it.”

“How? From your manwhore ways five years ago?” I chuckle but then hand over the phone with the group chat open.

“That one…” I click on her contact and point out her number that ends in 666, which is kind of hilarious.

He furrows his brows when he reads the name I gave her but doesn’t say anything. Just studies it.

“Well…do you know it?” I finally ask when he’s been silent too long.

He hands me back the phone, shaking his head. “Nope. Sorry, man.”

A part of me hoped he’d recognize it so I could put my curiosity to bed, but another part is glad he doesn’t because it means he probably hasn’t slept with her.

“Good luck figuring it out, though,” he adds.

I lift a shoulder. “Yeah, thanks.”

After we land and drive to the ranch, it’s nearly six hours later. I’m exhausted, hungry, and need a hot shower.

Not a good combo.

With Christmas in less than two weeks away, the airport was already chaotic with travelers.

But my mood immediately lifts when I get a text from Bentley of a photo of him and Hannah going to the holiday dance.

Waylon: Y’all look so good! Have the best time. No drinking!

Bentley: Okay, DAD.

Waylon: You know you can always call me, right? No questions asked. If you need a ride or whatever. Day or night.

Bentley: I know. Thanks.

Waylon: Good. Now be a gentleman and stay off your phone.

Bentley:

He replies with a middle-finger emoji, and I snicker.

Once I’ve cleaned up and thrown my dirty clothes in the washer, I head to my parents’ house for Sunday dinner. Even traveling all day doesn’t give us a pass. But since Ellie, Noah, and Fisher are on the road, the table is less crowded.

“I’ve watched the video of Ellie winning like ten times,” Mallory says when we’re all eating. “Totally jealous I couldn’t go. So unfair!”

My sixteen-year-old cousin pouts dramatically, which makes the rest of us laugh. She’s lived with my parents since she was nine after her parents died in a tragic car accident. Watching her grow up from a little kid to a full-blown teenager has been an interesting experience.

When Wilder and I caught her making out with a boy in the barn last year, we nearly lost it. Wilder swears the boy was getting handsy and pinned him up against a wall.

Now she has her driver’s license and goes to all of our secret hiding spots with her boyfriend, Antonio.

To just talk , is what I tell myself.

“Yeah, it was cool to witness,” I say. “A moment I’ll never forget.”

“Me neither.” Landen nods. “The whole competition was surreal. I still can’t believe how incredible she did. I was a nervous wreck for her, but she was calm and focused. A real badass.”

I smile at Landen because he’s been hyped about Ellie making it to the NFR more than anyone and has been the biggest supporter of her career long before they were together. Even through the years she hated him.

You can see how proud he is of her hard work and how much he loves her. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever have that type of relationship—someone I can encourage and support to be whatever they want to be.

“Pretty sure I lost my voice screamin’ so loud,” Magnolia chokes out, then clears her throat. Willow’s on her lap and Laken’s on Tripp’s. They left the kids here for a few days and you can tell how much they missed them.

“Sure, rub it in, jerk-holes.” Mallory scowls, and Mom warns her with the look for her choice of words.

“What? That ain’t a cuss word.” Mallory rolls her eyes.

Lord have mercy, she’s full of attitude.

“You’re too young to enjoy Vegas for what it’s meant for,” Tripp tells her.

Truthfully, she would’ve been bored. When we weren’t at the arena watching Ellie, we were drinking at the hotel bar or checking out the casinos.

“That’s so ageist!” Mallory scowls, flipping her dark hair behind her shoulder.

“No, that’s the law.” I snort. “You gotta be twenty-one to get into the fun places.”

“How about we take you for your twenty-first birthday?” Tripp offers.

Mallory perks up. “Really? You will?”

“I’ll be an old maid by then, but I’ll go, too,” Magnolia teases, but in reality, that’s only five years away.

“We’ll be goin’ every year that Ellie is racin’,” Landen says. “Probably the next few at least.”

“And how’re y’all gonna give me more great-grandchildren in between all that?” Gramma Grace blurts.

“You literally have three right here.” Landen points to Willow and Laken, then over to Poppy, who’s sitting between Mom and Dad. All three kids stayed here while we were gone.

I heard it was organized chaos the entire time.

“Okay, and?” Gramma Grace scowls. “I ain’t gonna live forever.”

Gasps circulate around the room, and she waves us off with a laugh.

“I’ll make sure to tell Ellie we’re on a deadline,” Landen taunts.

Dad chuckles. “That’ll go well.”

We all know Ellie’s independent and stubborn. She hardly takes orders from her husband, who was once her trainer.

Once we finish eating, I walk around the table and collect empty plates, then bring them to the sink.

“Waylon, darlin’,” Gramma Grace coos, standing next to me while I rinse the dishes.

“Hope you’re not about to ask me for more great-grandchildren because I hate to break it to ya, but there’s no Mrs. Waylon, which means, no Waylon babies.”

The corner of her mouth lifts in a confident smirk. “Maybe not yet, but I can tell there’s someone special in your life.”

I furrow my brows, confused. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve been happier these past few weeks. Lighter. Not so tense and moody.”

“I’m not moody,” I defend, opening the dishwasher to load it. This is something Noah usually does since Wilder and I tend to leave after dessert, but I’d rather be helpful than make my mom do everything.

She snickers, removing her apron, then sets it on the counter. “Well, whenever you decide to share her with us, I can’t wait to meet her.”

Meet her? Me too .

Or hell, I’d like to figure out who she is first.

After the kitchen is cleaned, Mom brings out the scrapbooking supplies and demands we all stay. I grab one of the unfinished books and look for photos and stickers to decorate the page.

Noah and Fisher have made one for each other already. Same with Tripp, who made a cute baby book for Magnolia when she was pregnant with Willow.

Landen made one for Ellie last year so they could document her year leading up to the NFR. Now he gets to add in a final page of her winning it all.

I hope one day I can make a special one for my partner—whoever she ends up being.

“Look how cute you two were as kids…” Dad holds up a photo from Wilder’s and my first day of kindergarten.

He mostly sits next to Mom and watches her flip through photos, but he’s made a couple anniversary ones for them that are kept in the living room for everyone to enjoy.

“I can’t even tell who is who.” Mallory squints.

“Really? You can’t tell by the goofy grin on Wilder’s face?” I nudge him next to me and grab his attention. “You got caught liftin’ Bridget Mueller’s skirt on the playground.”

“Oh damn, I forgot about that! She wouldn’t tell me what color her underwear was and told me to figure it out myself. So I did.”

“That sounds like assault,” Mallory deadpans.

“She was my first kiss too.” He waggles his brows.

“Was she a willing participant”—Magnolia giggles—“or did ya have her pinned against the slide?”

“She chased me and forced her mouth on mine, I’ll have ya know.” Wilder pulls out a few photos from our elementary years and holds one up. “Can you blame her, though? We were good-lookin’ kids.”

“That’s because you take after me,” Dad gloats.

Mallory scoffs. “Don’t encourage ’em.”

We laugh, and I look at my father, who’s a spitting image of us. Wilder, Landen, Tripp, and I look more like him than our mom, but Noah takes after her. From the photos I’ve seen, Noah’s her mini-me. Golden blond hair, blue eyes, and an I’m-always-right attitude.

“You know, he was the most eligible bachelor in town,” Mom praises. “I was lucky to steal those genes for my children. Y’all are welcome.”

“You mean, he corrupted an innocent church girl,” Gramma Grace quips.

Magnolia gasps with a holler. “Ooh, boy. Are we about to get some hot tea? Tell us more.”

“Corrupted?” Dad huffs, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. “It was love at first sight. If anything, she corrupted me .”

Mom raises her brow, shooting him a look that can only be interpreted as Don’t test me right now .

He shoots her a smug one right back.

“Mrs. Hollis would never chase a man.” Magnolia beams. “She was probably the prettiest girl Mr. Hollis has ever seen and he did the chasin’.”

It’s sweet how much she loves our mom and how well they get along. No surprise, though, since Noah and her have been best friends since they were in elementary school. Magnolia practically lived here throughout their high school years, but then she married Tripp and now lives on the ranch permanently.

“You got that right,” Dad agrees. “That’s why I couldn’t wait to make her mine. There were basta—uh—losers tryin’ to take her from me even after we got married.”

I chuckle at his quick catch of almost letting out a swear word. Even though Mallory’s older now, she still makes us put money in the swear jar.

“They were not!” Mom argues. “They got one look at the rock you made me wear and left me alone.”

Dad’s head falls back, bellowing out a cackle. “You think your ring scared ’em away? Darlin’, I threatened to make ’em horse feed if they even looked at you.”

Mom’s jaw drops and the room erupts in laughter.

“That explains some things…” Magnolia’s gaze shifts toward Tripp, who shrugs unapologetically. He’s overly protective of Magnolia and their kids, but I don’t blame him after everything she went through.

“Like father like son,” Dad gloats.

“You mean, crazy and crazier…” Mom mocks.

Dad winks at her. “You love it.”

It’s funny watching my parents after all these years. You can tell they’re deeply in love and have mutual respect. They were engaged and married within three months of meeting and then went on to expand the ranch and have five kids. Honestly, them moving so fast in their relationship explains why my younger siblings shacked up with their partners so damn quickly.

In the past few years, I’ve been to three weddings and became an uncle to two nieces and a nephew.

I shouldn’t be surprised at our family tradition considering Gramma Grace married a former teacher turned pastor—who was quite a bit older than her—and they went on to have a couple daughters.

Then we learned her great-aunt Polly married her second blood-cousin and then they had seven kids.

And now that I’m thinking about it, maybe I should blame my relatives for fucking up my ability to get a relationship. Between the cousin incest and the expectations to get married and have kids, it’s no wonder I have issues.

I’m ready to pass out by the time I get home, but I still haven’t replied to Poison Ivy Girl’s last text after I told her it’s been a while since my last girlfriend.

Poison Ivy Girl: Oh. How long?

Staring at her message, I contemplate how to reply.

It’s been hours since we’ve talked, but I told her yesterday I was traveling today.

My reply will either make me look like a loser for not being able to get a girlfriend or a failure for not being able to keep one. Either way, saying seven years is going to make me sound like I suck at relationships.

Which I do.

But I can’t keep stalling, so I eventually type out my response.

Waylon: Long enough to know what I’m looking for in a partner so neither of us is wasting our time.

I anxiously chew my lip and wonder if I should’ve said something less personal.

When I see her typing and stopping, then typing and stopping again, I groan.

Yep, now I made it weird.

After what feels like forever, my phone vibrates with a message.

Poison Ivy Girl: Maybe we should finally meet?