Page 2 of Just One Look

Maverick

“I think I need to meet this Jackson Hunter.”

Ollie’s amused voice comes through my car speakers.

“Which part impressed you the most? Him clocking Ridge Duporth or flipping me off several times?”

“Do I have to choose? Can’t they both be my favorites?”

he answers with a smile in his voice.

“Asshole,”

I chuckle as I take the turnoff to the winery.

Once Jackson’s truck disappeared out of view, I went back into Bunny’s, reordered another whiskey, and proceeded to stare at it for another hour or so. When I lost all feeling in my butt cheeks, I figured it was time to leave.

I’ve been in Silverstone for five months, mainly holed up at the winery, so I haven’t spent much time in the town itself. I decided to take advantage of the good weather and wandered around a bit. It reminded me why tourists flock here. We may not have the name recognition as other wine regions like Napa, Sonoma County, or Willamette Valley, but Silverstone really is postcard pretty.

The place has a cool, upmarket bohemian vibe, with farm-to-table restaurants, art galleries, museums, and tasting rooms. Very farmhouse meets wine country chic. Rolling hills filled with vineyards spread out in every direction from the historic walkable downtown. Weathered stone walls sit next to whitewashed brick. Shopfronts have hand-carved signs and flower boxes in the windows. Brick pavers line the sidewalks in faded reds and soft browns, the terra cotta roof tiles reminding me of the time we went to Tuscany, tacking on a family vacation to the end of one of Mom’s international business trips.

“And you’re telling me about this guy because?”

Ollie’s voice snaps me back to the present.

“I want his last three addresses, credit score, and any outstanding restraining orders by first thing tomorrow.”

“Assumed as much.”

Ollie’s cackle bursts through the speakers. Then, a brief moment of silence.

“How are you really doing, Mav?”

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, taking in the dark fields to my left and right on the empty road as I contemplate how to answer that.

“Let’s just say I’m doing way better than I was in the city. And I’m committed to figuring stuff out.”

“You will. You’re young. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I remember when I was your age.”

I roll my eyes. Fucker’s only a year older than me.

“You’re twenty-seven. You’re…still viable.”

Another wry cackle.

“Tell that to my ankles.”

“Then stop doing parkour,”

I reply because running, jumping, climbing, and vaulting through streets and obstacles sounds like my personal version of hell.

“Need to burn off the extra calories somehow.”

“Speaking of burning calories, how’s Derek?”

Ollie has always had a thing for firefighters, and now, his fantasy has come to life. Derek is his smoking-hot, silver-fox boyfriend. They’ve been together for eight months.

“He’s good. He got the promotion.”

“Hey, that’s great.”

“Yep. Now he gets paid to boss the entire fire station crew around.”

I grin.

“As opposed to just bossing you around for free?”

My best friend since forever, a Yale Law grad with honors, already a senior associate at a prestigious global law firm and on his way to making partner, giggles.

“Don’t be jealous.”

“Ha. I’m not. Believe me. After all the shit that went down with Luca, I’m happy being single.”

“You’ll find someone great when the time is right. And you’ll rebuild your friendship group as well,”

Ollie says, his voice dipping into a smooth, reassuring tone.

“For now, you’re recovering. You’ve just bought a horse rescue. And you’ve got Wagner and Sammy. Take it one step at a time. Focus on yourself. And when you least expect it, the perfect guy will turn up. Huh. Would you look at that? I can be positive.”

The pain of what happened with Luca and my so-called friends hits me with a ferocity I haven’t felt in ages. It’s bad enough he cheated, but when I discovered how many of my friends were involved, it was a body blow that knocked the wind out of me and sent me crashing to my lowest point.

I take another left.

“Sage advice, old man.”

“I’m here for you. Anytime.”

“I appreciate that. Now, go help Derek with that big hose of his.”

Ollie laughs.

“Oh, I will. Don’t you worry about that.”

With a groan, I disconnect the call. Except my Bluetooth has been playing up lately, so instead of returning to the true crime podcast I was listening to, a loud static sound hisses out of the speakers. I jam the buttons on the console to make it stop, but nothing works.

I slow down and take my eyes off the road for a second, finding the Off button with my thumb. When I glance back at the road, something moving in the shadows just beyond the road grabs my attention. At first, I think it’s fog catching the light, but then my beams catch the glint in its eyes.

It’s a horse.

Alone and untethered, with a big scar across one flank, it steps onto the road, right into the bright beam of my headlights. I slam on the brakes and swerve to miss it, hitting the horn in the hopes it’ll scare the creature enough so that it moves out of the way.

Dust billows around my car as I come to a grinding halt, my chest snapping forward against the belt. Catching my breath, I hear a sharp cry behind me. In the rearview mirror, the horse throws its weight back, rearing onto its hind legs, its front hooves slicing through the air.

A few moments pass while I try to figure out my next move. I’m not hurt, but there’s a wild horse loose on the road. As the new owner of a horse rescue center, it’s ironic that I have no fucking clue what to do.

Bright, jerky flashes of light cut through the field. A male voice calls out.

“Hello. Who’s there? Is anyone injured?”

The horse whinnies as I open the door and get out of the car. The footsteps racing through the field get closer and closer.

And then I hear a disappointe.

“Not you again.”

I raise a hand to cover my face, the light from the flashlight blinding me.

“I can’t see anything,”

I say, flapping my arm, hoping whoever’s spotlighting me gets the hint.

They do, dropping the light down to a patch of dirt a few feet in front of me. It takes me a few seconds to adjust to the darkness again, but when I do, it’s my turn to say.

“Not you again.”

Jackson Hunter strides up to me in a few long, purposeful steps, squinting hard, his faded gray T-shirt half tucked into a pair of navy cotton pants that have a hole in one knee.

“What the hell are you doing?”

he demands.

“I was driving home, minding my own business, when that fucking horse came out of nowhere and tried to kill me,”

I bark back, glancing over to where the animal stands, now pawing at the ground, ears flicking back and forth.

Jackson turns as if he hadn’t noticed the creature standing there the whole time.

“Those fucking assholes!”

he cries out. “Riven!”

He races over to the horse, and I follow…at a safe distance.

“Careful. I think he’s wild.”

“Yeah, no shit,”

Jackson retorts, not even bothering to look over his shoulder at me as he holds his hand up for me to stop walking.

I stop where I am because one of us doesn’t have a death wish. Jackson slows his approach and extends an arm, palm facing the ground. His steps become slower. Measured. The horse is skittish. Jackson murmurs something to it. I can’t hear what.

His approach seems to be working. The horse drops its head as Jackson reaches it and strokes its lower neck a few times, then trails his hands over its shoulder, slow and steady, until he reaches that sweet spot just behind the mane, gently whispering the whole time.

After a few moments, Jackson leads it away, keeping a good distance as he walks past me, angling the flashlight a few paces in front of himself to see in the dark. He snaps his head to me and mouths.

“Stay right there,”

and for the second time today, I stay glued to the spot, utterly transfixed by a complete stranger who has enough of a hold over me to tell me what the hell to do. I watch as he guides the horse toward a barn I can just make the outline of in the distance.

A few minutes later, he comes storming back, limbs flapping as he cuts through the field, the flickering beam from his torch illuminating the long grass.

I’ve orientated myself as to where I am—just past the entrance to the horse rescue sanctuary I now own. I’ve also pieced together there’s a high probability that’s where the horse escaped from. The only thing I haven’t been able to get a handle on is the onyx-haired spitfire charging at me. What is he doing here? And is he always this fucking angry?

He reaches me and jabs my chest with the flashlight.

“What the fuck are you doing? You almost killed a horse.”

“What the fuck am I doing?”

I fire back.

“What the fuck is a wild animal doing out on the road?”

Jackson shakes his head, letting a hiss escape out the side of his mouth.

“Typical rich asshole behavior. You drive drunk and take no accountability. You could have?—”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Give me a break. Are you coming from Bunny’s?”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

“So?”

He exhales hard.

“So, I left you there hours ago. Just admit it. You’ve been drink?—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

I eliminate the space between us with one giant stride and take a page right out of his playbook, framing the sides of his face in my hands the same way he did to me a few hours ago.

His gorgeous dark-green eyes lock onto mine, confused and irritated in equal measure. I tip his head up as I lean in and fan my breath across his face in one long, smooth exhale.

His eyes flutter closed, and as soon as they do, the air around us changes. When he’s not busy scowling and glaring at me, he looks so much younger. Early twenties, I’d guess. A smooth, unlined forehead. A slightly upturned nose. Glossy cheeks sprinkled with freckles illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. A lush, plump mouth. And long, dark, curly lashes.

Under any other circumstances, I’d be doing a whole lot more than just blowing air on this guy’s face. I’d be kissing those lips. Exploring the insides of that dirty mouth while I messed up his thick black hair some more. Running my hands underneath his faded gray T-shirt, letting my fingers explore what lies beneath.

My fantasy comes to an abrupt end when Jackson’s eyes fly open. My breath catches in my throat as he stares at me, lips parted, forehead creased, my heart beating hard enough to rattle my ribs.

We stand in silence until he concedes.

“Okay, so you weren’t drinking.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, I supply.

“I believe the words you’re looking for are, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head and flicks a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“Fuck off.”

“Your pronunciation is a bit off, but we can work on that.”

His gaze meets mine, and even in the dark, it’s breathtakingly intense. Blood thrums in my ears, and a current runs through my body. It’s like he can see straight into my soul. It’s unnerving.

“What about you? Are you okay?”

he grumbles, sounding like he’s asking out of obligation, not because he actually cares.

“You’re not injured or anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Well, I guess you should be on your way then.”

I ignore what feels an awful lot like a dismissal and ask.

“Why did you do it?”

He cocks his head. “Do what?”

“Punch Ridge Duporth in the face.”

I wait until he looks up at me again.

“Unless that’s your way of saying hello just like this…”

I lift my middle finger into the air.

“Is your way of waving goodbye.”

His lips start to twitch, but he quickly bites it down.

“He pissed me off.”

“He pisses a lot of people off.”

Jackson’s eyes stay on me for longer than necessary.

“What did he do?”

He looks out into the black field around us, blinks heavily a few times, then says.

“It’s a long story.”

I could press for more, but I’m curious to see what he offers himself. “Anyway…”

He points to my car.

And there’s my answer.

Nothing.

He wants to tell me nothing.

A twinge pulls in my gut.

“Guess I should get going.”

He starts to walk away. Stops. Turns so his body is at a forty-five-degree angle, then tips his head up.

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

“Yeah?”

He gives a small nod.

“Yeah. The world needs rich assholes. Now more than ever.”

A laugh bubbles out of my chest.

“You know, I should be offended.”

“I know.”

He offers a half smile in return, so small it borders on bashful.

“But something tells me you’re not that predictable, Benson.”

Hearing my last name fall from his lips has my dick swelling. Or maybe it’s meeting a guy who doesn’t fawn over me and say or do anything to get into my pants. Or maybe it’s because for the first time in a long time, I’m actually feeling something.

Jackson heads off.

Before he gets lost in the shadows, I call out.

“Night, Hunter.”

Without turning around, he throws his arm into the air and gives me the middle finger.

Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe I’m not that unpredictable after all.

Because what do I do?

For the second time today, I stand there, watching him walk away from me, grinning like a motherfucking idiot.