Only With Me (Sugarland Creek #4)

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Waylon

“ H owdy, Jail Bird.”

“Funny,” I deadpan, walking through my parents’ kitchen.

Noah and Magnolia giggle at my sister’s taunting words. They’re leaning against the counter, helping Gramma Grace bake something for dessert.

“Sheriff Wagner didn’t even cuff me or put me in a cell, so it hardly counts.”

“That’s a nice black eye, son.” Dad smacks me hard on the shoulder, and I wince as he passes around me to get to the fridge. “Knuckles look rough, too.”

I swallow hard, taking my seat at the table next to Wilder. “Barely hurts.”

Jake managed to get one face punch, but I got at least two on him.

“Isn’t this where you say you should see the other guy ?” Noah mimics in a deep voice.

Narrowing my eyes at her, I scowl. “Don’t ya have your own child to worry about? Leave me be.”

“Who knew Waylon would kick anyone’s ass, no less his best friend’s?” Wilder taunts, draping his arm around me. “I guess that means he loves me.”

“Or that you’re a huge pain in my ass and since I can’t kick yours, I had to kick his.”

“No cussin’ at the dinner table.” Mom strolls in with an apron around her waist and Mallory behind her, already gloating at my slipup.

“Pay up, cowboys. I’m savin’ up for a big truck,” Mallory muses, holding out her ridiculous swear jar.

“A big what ?” Wilder hollers. “Whaddya need that for?”

“Noneya business, that’s what.”

“Here’s a concept: get a job and pay for it yourself.” Wilder pokes her arm when she sits next to him.

“Puttin’ up with you is my job.”

They continue bickering, but I’m just happy I’m no longer the topic of conversation.

The rest of the family filter into the dining area and soon we’re all bowing our heads and saying grace. Mom makes an extra point to peek up at me when she mentions my name.

It’s like I’m ten being scolded all over again, but this time without words. Instead, I get disappointed glares.

Meanwhile, the twin who’s caused trouble since he came out of the womb gets a friendly pat on the back and a smile.

I hate it here.

But I don’t regret it because Jake deserved it.

I’m grateful Sheriff Wagner didn’t make me sit in a cell all night, so I’ll take the small win.

After dessert, I bow out and skip scrapbooking so I can busy myself at the barn. It’s New Year’s Eve, so we didn’t have any tours today and none tomorrow. Normally, I’d enjoy the break, but instead, it gives me more time to sulk.

I’ve spent the past two days signing up for every dating app I could find.

Pathetic, I know.

But I need to find Harlow. I can’t stop thinking about what those men must be saying to her.

Nothing like the conversations we used to have.

I miss her telling me secrets about her romance wish list.

About her day and how she slept.

How my face would light up every time I checked my phone and a message was waiting for me.

God, I sound like a simp.

Maybe it just didn’t mean as much to her, so it’s easier for her to move on to talking to someone else.

Maybe that’s what I’m telling myself so I don’t feel like such a horrible person for what I did.

Would it have been so bad to sit across from her at that table and tell her I was the guy she was speaking to? Would she have freaked out the way I did?

It would’ve had to end either way.

She’s so young and has gone through so much in her short life that it would’ve been wrong to tangle her into my shit when she’s getting hers back on track.

But then why can’t I get it out of my damn head?

So since I’m already at war with myself, why not add to it and see if she’ll notice my profile and DM me on whichever app she’s on. I could message her first…assuming I can figure out what to say and if I can find her.

Wilder’s going out tonight, but I asked Delilah to keep an eye on him since she’s going out too. I’m not going to bed until his drunk ass is home.

The Twisted Bull is having a whole New Year’s bash and is staying open until four in the morning, so thank God we only have barn chores tomorrow. Wilder won’t even be up until noon.

Once I bring in the final horse from the pasture and get them in their stall for the night, I close the barn door and turn off the lights. Then I head home.

When I pull into my driveway, Delilah’s here, picking up Wilder.

“Hey.” I smile weakly when they walk down the duplex stairs toward me.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” Wilder shouts, already acting tipsy.

They probably pregamed while I was at the barn.

“Oh, I’m positive. They wouldn’t let me in anyway.”

I already paid my citation and apologized to the owner in person when I gave him a check for the damages, but I’m not going to push my luck. Plus, being around hundreds of drunks with loud music blasting and sweaty bodies swarming me sounds like my personal hell.

Wilder jumps into the passenger seat like an excited kid on his way to see Santa Claus. When Delilah walks to the driver’s side, I stop her.

“Thank you again for doing this. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

“You owe me big time.” She grins mischievously. “And I’m gonna make it a good favor.”

Snickering, I shake my head. “I have no doubts.”

She gives my chest a little pat before I move out of her way and she hops inside her truck.

“Wilder, please, for the love of God, don’t overdo it,” I warn, holding open the door and peeking inside. “We have work tomorrow.”

“Aye aye, boss.” He gives me a cocky salute, and I roll my eyes.

“Drive safe,” I tell Delilah. “If you need a ride, call me. Please .”

“I will, but I plan to stop drinking at one, so that should be enough time to sober up and drive home.”

I nod and thank her again before closing the door.

After I watch them drive away, I head inside my place and grab a beer to drink alone while I scroll through more dating apps to sign up for and look for the only profile I’m interested in.

My phone blows up with DMs from dozens of women. I ignore all of them and start wondering if this is a lost cause. Even if Harlow saw my profile, there’s no way she’d?—

A notification from the CowboyMatch app pops up with a message under her name.

That’s the app she chose? I almost laugh because I shouldn’t be that surprised.

This one allows you to directly message people or respond to their prompt to help break the ice.

And I cringe a little seeing she answered mine.

I didn’t put a lot of effort into mine since I wasn’t looking to chat with strangers.

One way to impress me is — know how to ride a horse.

It’s lame, but I couldn’t think of anything else. However, from the looks of the responses, no one’s taking it seriously because they’re all asking to ride me instead.

Great.

But when I see Harlow’s message, I smile.

Harlow: There’s no way you thought that prompt was a good idea. If the girls are anything like the guys on here, 99% of them made it sexual.

Waylon: You would be correct. I haven’t even bothered to respond to them.

Harlow: Can’t be much worse than the reverse cowgirl comments I’ve gotten.

My jaw clenches.

Waylon: So you’ve not been having much luck on here then?

Harlow: Nope. A couple guys seemed nice but then turned it suggestive and I’m just not experienced enough to know how to play along. They end up ignoring or blocking me.

Waylon: What do you mean not experienced enough? What the hell are they asking?

Harlow: I’ve never had a boyfriend.

Waylon: Okay?

Harlow: Or kissed a guy.

What? I figured she didn’t have an extensive dating history, but I would’ve never guessed she had… none .

It makes sense, though, because most of our texting conversations were genuine and innocent.

Minus the inside joke of her showing me her ass.

But that’s what I liked about her.

Most girls who are interested in me never try to get to know me or engage in normal discussions. They just want me for sex. And because I was looking to block out my chaotic thoughts, I went along with it at the time.

Waylon: Oh. Well then don’t talk to those guys. I’m sure there are ones who aren’t that way.

Except, probably not on dating apps.

Harlow: Ha…yeah right. Even when they come across as nice, they eventually ask for a nude.

Waylon: A nude pic?!

Oh fuck no.

Harlow: Yep…I’m naive sometimes but not enough to send a naked pic of myself.

Waylon: Good. Otherwise I’d have to give you the internet safety talk I just gave Bentley.

Harlow:

She sends me an eye roll emoji.

Harlow: Oh like you’ve never sent a dick pic?

Why does her saying that make mine twitch? Fuck, talking to her like this is a bad idea.

Waylon: We’re not talking about me…we’re talking about you.

Harlow: Classic line of defense.

Waylon: I just want you to be careful. There are a lot of creeps on these apps only looking for sex and some will do whatever it takes to get you into their beds.

Harlow: Speaking of creeps, I’m honestly surprised to see you on here.

Chuckling at her effortless dig, I lean back against the couch, relieved that we’ve seemed to fall back into our easy conversation rhythm. Too bad she’ll never know it was originally me.

Waylon: Wow…you’re funny.

Harlow: I know. It’s why I’m so unlikable.

Waylon: You are not.

Waylon: Why are you surprised I’m on here?

Harlow: Because I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type who has trouble finding dates in the real world.

She’s not wrong, but I’m not about to confess my sins on why I’m here.

Waylon: I don’t use these apps much. Kinda forgot I had them.

Mostly true.

Harlow: Also surprised you’re not out on New Year’s Eve with your brother. Delilah told me she’s “watching” him for the night.

Waylon: I wasn’t feeling it. Plus, I figured it wasn’t a good idea to show my face in a place I just got kicked out of.

Harlow: Speaking of that, how’s your black eye and knuckles?

I stretch out my fingers, looking at the small cut.

Waylon: Better than Jake’s.

Harlow:

She sends three laughing emojis.

Harlow: Well, I’m glad neither of you ended up in the hospital. Not a fun place to be over the holidays.

No, it ain’t.

Waylon: How’s your dad doing since his fall?

I should’ve asked earlier.

Harlow: He’s hanging in there. Mostly miserable from his phantom pain but I’ve been trying to keep him occupied and his mind busy. Playing cards and board games, doing puzzles, reading him books, watching TV.

Waylon: That’s sweet of you.

Harlow: Yeah, but I think he’s getting sick of me.

Now I’m the one laughing.

Waylon: I don’t think anyone could get sick of you.

Harlow: Really?

Waylon: Yeah. How could they?

Harlow: You don’t ever seem excited when I’m around.

Shit. That stings.

Waylon: Don’t take it personally. I’m exhausted most days and keeping Wilder alive is a full-time job.

Both figuratively and literally.

Harlow: I can understand that. I feel the same about my dad.

Waylon: How so?

It’s been years since I’ve seen Mr. Fanning, so I haven’t stayed updated on him since Delilah and I broke up.

Harlow: His mental health isn’t great. Between his depression and pain, I’m always fearing the worst. When I first saw him unconscious on the bathroom floor, I assumed he was dead. I thought…yep, this is it. He’s overdosed on pills or took something.

My heart jumps into my throat because I’ve been there too many times to count.

Waylon: Damn, that’s traumatic. I’m sorry you went through that. Unfortunately, I understand those fears all too well. Never gets easier either.

Harlow: Nope, not in all the years since his accident but it got worse after I recovered. It was like as soon as I was back to “normal” he had nothing to live for anymore.

Waylon: You gave meaning to his life during a time he felt like he had none. Now he needs to find a new meaning.

Harlow: Sadly, I don’t know that there is one besides his family, but he thinks he’s a burden and that our lives would be easier without him. I always tell him he’s wrong, but his mind is set on it.

Waylon: He said that?

Damn, I can’t imagine that’s easy to hear from your own father.

Harlow: A few times, usually during his darker moments when the pain has been nonstop for days and his meds aren’t strong enough to help. Those are when my mom takes him to the ER for a morphine drip. It’s stronger than pills but even if it’s short-term relief, it’s something to keep him off the ledge.

Waylon: Fuck, that’s a tough one. No one deserves to live that way. It’s understandable he struggles mentally when you’re constantly at war with your own body.

Harlow: I know. I’m torn between begging him to fight to live and giving him my blessing to surrender. I can’t imagine losing him, but it feels selfish to want him here when I know he’s suffering.

Waylon: Life can be so unfair sometimes. I think the best you can do is be there for him and love him as much as you can and it sounds like that’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re not responsible for how he chooses to deal with the pain, but you can make sure he’s not alone with it.

Harlow: You’re right. It’s why I’ve been trying to keep him distracted from the pain as much as I can with activities. I even busted out my old paint set and we painted portraits of each other. They were both horrible and we laughed. But then it was ruined a couple minutes later when his pain got so intense it brought him to tears.

My heart aches for her. It’s such a tough position to be in, and I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. Watching someone you love suffer and being helpless to stop or fix it is the worst.

Waylon: Not to sound pushy on the topic, but does he see a psychiatrist for his mental health issues or a pain therapist?

Harlow: He saw both the first three years but then got sick of going with no results—his words, not mine. Mom tried to talk him into going back but she got sick of fighting with him and let it go.

Waylon: I know how that goes. Been trying to get Wilder to go to therapy for years so he can get the right medication for his depression, but he refuses. I’ve even offered to go with him, but he’s so stuck on the stigma that he’s too blinded to see how the benefits could outweigh it.

Harlow: So we both have insufferable stubborn men in our lives…

Waylon: Seems that way.

Grabbing my beer, I down the rest of it but then nearly choke when I read her next message.

Harlow: A guy just messaged me and asked if my kitty cat was purring…I feel so dumb because I don’t even know what that means?? I know kitty means pussy but what does purring mean?

Nothing in the world could’ve prepared me for that question.

Or her so easily texting the word pussy .

Waylon: It means he’s a creep and you should block him.

Harlow: Oh come on…tell me. No way I can Google it or ask him myself without looking stupid.

Waylon: You really wanna know?

Harlow: I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.

I sigh, blowing out a frustrated breath. At this point, she probably thinks of me like an older brother more than anything. No way she’d talk to me about guys she’s chatting with if she saw me another way.

So fuck it. Might as well tell her.

Waylon: He’s asking if you’re turned on. Ya know…purring like a cat in heat.

Harlow: Oh God.

Harlow: Okay, so while that makes sense, now he’s asking if the kitty is thirsty? Thirsty for what…

Jesus Christ.

She’s gonna fucking kill me.

Waylon: For his CUM, Harlow. He’s asking if you want to fuck him.

Harlow: I told you I was bad at this!

Waylon: And I told you he was a creep.

Harlow: Because he wants to fuck me?

I growl.

Waylon: He wants to fuck anyone who will fuck him. Not the type of guy you should be with.

Harlow: And what is my type?

Waylon: I don’t know but you have higher standards than that.

Harlow: Maybe I wanna lose my virginity and get it over with so I don’t sound like a prepubescent girl around these men.

Waylon: Your first time should be special, not just some rando on a dating app looking to get his dick wet.

Harlow: I’m tired of waiting.

Waylon: You’re only 20. You can’t even buy alcohol, so I’d hardly say you’ve been “waiting” a long time.

Harlow: And how old were you when you lost yours?

Waylon: Again, we’re not talking about me.

Harlow: Was your first time “special”?

Waylon: You don’t want me answering that.

Harlow: Why not? Tell me. I can handle it. I’m not a CHILD.

Waylon: Harlow, drop it.

Harlow: Why can’t you just tell me how old you were?

Waylon: Because it’ll make things awkward so let’s change the subject.

Harlow: Or we could play hot and cold. I’ll guess your age and you tell me if I’m getting close or not.

Waylon: No.

Harlow: 15?

Waylon: I’m not playing.

Harlow: 16?

Waylon: Stop guessing.

Harlow: 17?

Waylon: I’m not answering.

Harlow: 14?

Waylon: No.

Harlow: 18??

Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose and surrender.

Waylon: 20.

Harlow: 20?! No way. It’s almost like…that’s MY age. Which means I have to lose it before I’m 21 or I’m officially a loser.

Waylon: Who’d think that?

Harlow: Every man looking to hook up. I can’t be 21 and tell them I’ve never had sex before. They’ll know I’m inexperienced and won’t be able to please them.

Waylon: Not that I want to talk you into giving up your V-card to just anyone but most guys don’t care about that. If they’re into you, they’ll respect your body and your boundaries enough to wait until you’re ready.

Harlow: Ugh, you sound like Delilah. Even though I know she was having sex before my age.

Waylon: Then you know she’s giving you advice based on experience and her wishing she hadn’t rushed it.

Harlow: Maybe…but let’s backtrack to you being 20. That means you didn’t have sex in high school. How’s that possible? Didn’t you and Wilder have the biggest manwhore reputations?

Of course that comes back to bite me in the ass over a decade later.

Waylon: There’s other stuff people can do that don’t include penetration. Hooking up doesn’t always mean sex.

Harlow: Really? What does it mean then?

My head falls back against the couch in disbelief that I’m having this conversation with someone I like and having to pretend I don’t in that way.

That’d be my damn luck.

But at this point, if this is the only way I get to talk to her, then I’ll take it.

Consequences be damned.

Waylon: It means getting each other off from touching or kissing down below. Could also be dry humping until you both come.

Harlow: Ohh. Dry humping sounds fun. Does it feel better with the girl on top or the bottom?

I adjust myself because the more she talks about this, the more it’s confusing my dick.

My jaw is also about to snap at how hard I’m grinding my teeth.

Waylon: Both feel good but everyone has their own preferences.

Harlow: What’s yours?

Fuck me. How do I get out of this conversation without coming in my pants?

Waylon: Uh…I guess I prefer the girl on top, straddling my lap and taking control. That way she can go as fast or slow as she needs to help her orgasm. And I can play with her nipples and kiss her neck easily to help her come harder.

And with that, I should burn my phone.

Harlow: Jesus. See, now that’s hot. Why can’t these guys talk to me like that?

Waylon: Because they’re dipshits.

Harlow: Clearly. One guy asked me how long it took to get myself off. I didn’t know how to answer, so I lied and said five minutes.

I furrow my brow, confused.

Waylon: Why would you have to lie about that?

Harlow: Because I’ve never been able to.

Waylon: Not even with a vibrator?

Harlow: You think I have a toy? Please. I wouldn’t even know where to buy one.

Holy fuck, she really is pure and innocent to the core.

Waylon: There’s only like a dozen sex shops within a fifty-mile radius and hundreds of online ones.

Harlow: I’m not gonna order one to my house! I would die of embarrassment if my parents saw that. Perks of living at home.

I laugh at her upside-down smiley emoji.

Waylon: I guess you’ll have to use your hand like the rest of us mortals.

Harlow: Ha! I’ve tried…I just don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe you can teach me?

I blink twice to make sure I read that correctly.

Waylon: Teach you? How?

Harlow: Tell me what to do so I can get myself off. That way I don’t have to risk my mother opening a package with a sex toy inside.

Waylon: I don’t know if that’s a good idea.

Harlow: Why not? Save me from the humiliation of my father somehow finding a rubber penis in the house.

Christ . I can’t believe I’m about to agree to this…

Waylon: Fine. But only because I don’t want to give your old man a heart attack.

Harlow: On behalf of my family, we thank you for your service.

I snort at her salute emoji.

Waylon: Put two fingers together and then rub circles over your clit. Play around with the pressure and speed to see what you like or what helps get you there. You can also thrust them inside yourself and when you’re nice and wet, rub the pad of your thumb over your clit to help you finish.

When she doesn’t respond immediately like she has all night, I panic.

Oh God.

That was fucking creepy, wasn’t it?

She’s gonna think I’m a sicko.

I bang my head against the back of the sofa until she finally replies three minutes later.

Harlow: Wow, that almost worked. I got close but like…lost the sensation? But that was helpful, so thank you. I’ll keep trying.

How is she talking about masturbating so freely like we’re discussing the weather? This is a new one, even for me.

Waylon: Sure, no problem.

Because what else am I gonna say?

Harlow: My friend Natalie says that it sometimes helps when a guy dirty talks you through it. Is that true?

Waylon: Yeah, that can help elevate the fantasy of someone else touching you.

Harlow: Okay, so I just need to find a guy who will voice or video chat while I try to give myself an orgasm.

Waylon: I’ll do it.

Fuck, why did I just volunteer?

Because I don’t want anyone else to do it with her.

Harlow: Really? Do you want to now?

NOW?

I’m seconds away from coming in my pants as it is.

Waylon: Okay, sure.

Harlow: Great, I’ll video call you in a few…

How the hell am I going to compose myself and not completely lose it when she moans to the sound of my voice?

The simple answer is, I’m not .