Page 10 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

TRIPP

She squints, and a muscle ticks somewhere near my temple. Up close like this, the faded freckles on the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks are more noticeable. They’re not quite as dark as the ones on her shoulders.

Her mouth opens once, then closes again. I wait, wishing I knew what she was going to say before she stops herself and picks a different direction to go in.

“You just met me,” she says. “You weren’t thinking dirty that fast.”

“Yes, I was. Now I’m wondering something else, though.”

What I’d give to be inside her head. She’s flipping through the possibilities—and I hope they’re as filthy as I want them to be. I watch her chest rise and fall. Her lips roll into her mouth slowly.

“Now you’re wondering if raccoons have thumbs?” she guesses.

And just like that, the tiny moment of tension between us burns off like a lit match tossed into a pile of dry leaves. There’s no stopping my laugh, and she doesn’t hesitate to mirror my amusement. But she’s intentionally swerving away from me at the same time.

I’m off my game, and she’s holding out.

That should be frustrating. Instead, it stirs something inside me that feels a lot like the old energy I’ve been missing lately.

I shake my head. “Strike one.”

Her hands clasp casually behind her back, and she tilts her head. “Okay. You were thinking about the time you brushed your teeth and then immediately drank orange juice.”

“Nope. Last chance.”

Her mouth twists as she bites the inside of her cheek.

I shouldn’t expect her to know the real answer, and I’m not sure I’d admit to it even if she got close.

She’d file a restraining order if she found out I was thinking about how much money I’d owe Blythe for pinning Mesa against the wall in my room and then absolutely ripping that thin ass dress off her.

There’s no missing the moment she decides to stop making jokes. Her eyes flick to my mouth, then down to my chest, and quickly back up to my face. I struggle not to step closer when she unclasps her hands and nervously adjusts one of the straps on her dress.

“Maybe,” she starts, pausing to think over her final guess, “you were wondering if I?—”

“Mesa!”

I bite down on the piece of gum in my mouth and sigh as Mesa’s thoughts are interrupted by a shout from the other side of the bunkhouse. I hold her gaze, willing her to pretend she didn’t hear it.

Instead of finishing her sentence like I want her to, she straightens her posture and turns her head in Savannah’s direction.

“What?”

“Get that dress off, girl. We have Saturday night with nowhere to be tomorrow things to do.”

“Oh, and Tripp,” Warren so conveniently chimes in. “Your girl Violet called. Said she left something here last night.”

I blink slowly. He’s one comment away from me ordering a giant red ant farm and dumping it in his bed sheets.

Mesa gently bites the corner of her lower lip. I don’t give a shit if she knows Violet was in my room last night. I don’t think.

When she faces me once again with smug, narrowed eyes, I know I’m officially cooked.

The sudden shift in her expression makes me want to pull the hair out of my scalp.

I finally look away from her and realize that we’re the only ones who haven’t changed into our regular clothes yet.

Savannah is holding up a bottle of champagne, and Blythe lifts two slim crystal glasses with a smile, which will probably make Mesa rush off to change and join them.

Before I have a chance to beg her to ignore Savannah and Blythe, she’s spinning on her heel and floating down the hall. A door slams closed a moment later. Nail in the coffin.

My eyes narrow at Gage and Warren, who are failing to conceal their delight in my misery. Heston isn’t much better, pushing back the brim of his hat and shaking his head at me.

I should change my clothes. Instead, I walk into the living room where they’re all sprawled out on the sectional in front of a coffee table full of drinks. I grab a bottle of beer and twist my hand into the sharp edges of the metal cap until it nearly cuts my skin.

“You’re all fucking dead to me,” I say before taking a long swig.

“I didn’t do shit,” Gage defends with a chuckle. His feet are crossed and propped up on the coffee table, and his hands are folded behind his head as he leans back on the couch.

Blythe pops the bottle of champagne, sending the cork flying toward the ceiling. “Me neither. Oh, we need one more glass.”

“I’ll get it!” Savannah singsongs on her way to the kitchen. It only takes a second for Warren to stand and walk toward me.

“Trying to bag Mesa,” he whispers, “is not your brightest idea.”

“Since when are you such a cockblocker? I don’t need a cosigner to hook up with one of your girl’s buddies.”

He covers his eyes with a hand and sighs. She’s hot. I flirted. What’s the big deal?

“If you hit it and quit it with her, I’m guessing it wouldn’t end well. It’s whatever, I guess. But Savvy would be stuck in the middle.”

He has a point. I sniff and take another drink. My odds weren’t looking too good with Mesa anyway.

“I’ll consider tabling the idea,” I say. “Not like she’ll give me the time of day after the stunt you just pulled.”

“Really?”

“No,” I say with a smile.

That earns me a punch to the shoulder, and I start to wonder if we’re still grown-ass men or teenagers again.

“Have to agree with Warren on this one,” Gage says. “Casting for season three of The Real Housewives of the Bunkhouse is closed until further notice.”

Warren snaps his fingers and plops back into his seat on the couch. “Exactly.”

My face twists as I turn to Gage. “The fuck is that supposed to mean? And how the hell would you know about The Real Housewives ?”

“What? Blythe likes it,” he says with a shrug. “I watch it with her. Sue me.”

“And that, my friend, is the most pathetic, pussy-whipped thing that has ever come out of your mouth.”

At that moment, Mesa reappears. Fuck, she’s pretty. I want to shout a slew of curse words into the nearest pillow every time she smiles sweetly with her lips closed like she is right now. It turns her face into a heart shape.

Savannah intercepts her as she passes the kitchen. They share a warm hug, and instead of continuing to stare at Mesa, I shift my focus to Savannah. She’s like a sister to me, so I’d feel like a world-class asshole for chasing Mesa off when she’s so clearly happy to have her friend here.

Like it or not, I had zero intention of trying for anything more than a hookup with her. I’m not even sure I’m capable of anything more, even if I wanted to go there.

Mesa might be more of a relationship person. Or maybe she’s just not that into me.

Either way, her reasoning for turning me down doesn’t really matter. My ego is a little bruised, but hot girls aren’t difficult to find. One week, tops, and I’ll have someone else lined up.

“Yeah,” I mumble to Warren with a shrug as the girls walk our way. “You’re right. I’ll drop it.”

Warren purses his lips and nods.

Savannah sits across Warren’s lap after filling two glasses of champagne and handing one to Mesa. “Cheers to the bride and groom!”

We all lift our drinks except for Mesa. I try not to make it obvious that I’m eying her as she covertly glances down at her phone instead of raising her glass.

Coming to terms with not trying to hook up with her would be a lot easier if she remained still. I’m probably just hard-up and overdue, but each time she moves, I have to stop myself from running my tongue over my bottom lip.

“We’re not married yet,” Blythe laughs.

Savannah takes a drink and dabs the corner of her mouth with her middle finger. “Just practicing.”

Like any other night when we’re all in the same room, several different conversations begin. Gage and Heston strike up a debate over some sort of prairie dog problem behind the hay barn. Warren absentmindedly traces circles on Savannah’s back while she and Blythe flip through pictures on her phone.

I take a step back to lean a shoulder against the fireplace mantle and check the game score on my phone.

There are several missed call notifications and a voicemail from a number that catches my eye.

I look up at my friends, then back down at the screen.

My thumb hovers just above the number for a good thirty seconds as I stare at the name, but I don’t press it down.

It’s been months since she’s contacted me with an update. Waiting to call back until morning won’t hurt.

After swiping to the game app, the box score shows we’re in extras, and I’ve already allowed myself to ignore the unexpected notifications that put an anxious weight in the pit of my stomach. With one click, I pull up the radio broadcast again.

I’m usually the last one to dip out for the night, but I’m tempted to go to my room where I can turn up the volume without bothering anyone to listen better. Plus, this suit has got to go.

The only thing keeping me glued to my spot is the fact that the game is tied. I’ll wait to see what happens in this inning and then I’ll go change. We have a runner on third, two outs, and our clean-up guy up to bat in the bottom of the fourteenth.

I down the rest of my beer while holding the phone speaker to my ear. On the next pitch, the crowd’s cheers erupt loud enough to hear over the radio. The commentators are going wild over a base-hit walk-off.

“Yes!” I shout, nearly dropping my empty bottle of beer.

My head snaps up when Mesa jumps from her seat and yells the exact same thing.

Her face is lit up with joy as she beams at her phone.

She’s gained an audience after the random outburst, and all eyes stay fixed on her, hoping she’ll offer an explanation for what caused her excitement. Including mine.

“Oops,” she says, quickly sitting back down and covering her mouth.

Confused, I quirk an eyebrow, wondering if she’s making fun of me or something.

Mesa lifts a shoulder and holds her phone up with a satisfied smile. “Sorry. Got too excited for a second.”