Page 21 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

catalina

. . .

H e fucking stopped.

After everything—after I was soaking through my panties and riding his cock like I needed it to breathe, after he growled filth into my ear like he was going to fuck me until I forgot my name—he stopped.

Fucking pathetic.

He pulled away like I was a mistake and apologized like I was just another one-night stand he didn’t want. He walked the fuck off like he didn’t just tell me I was dripping for him. Like he didn’t kiss me like I was air he so desperately needed.

Fuck men.

I’m lying in bed, heart pounding and cheeks flushed, with the most ridiculous, humiliating memory of all time playing on a loop in my head like some slow-motion nightmare.

Carter’s voice still echoes in my skull. “You gonna come like this, Catalina?” Just from grinding on me? You gonna soak my lap like a needy little slut? ”

I squeeze my thighs together under the sheets, my whole body still buzzing from how close I was.

My panties are ruined.

My pride? Vaporized.

He kissed me like he was starving, grabbed my ass like he owned it and whispered filthy nothings about how my smart mouth was going to get filled.

Then he left, leaving me there panting, trembling, and soaked, like I was just some wild little detour he couldn’t afford to take.

The ceiling blurs as tears burn at the corners of my eyes—not sad ones, angry ones. Red-hot betrayal boiling behind my ribs.

I grip the edge of the blanket so tightly that my knuckles turn a shade of white. Last night, he looked at me like I was his, and I fucking let him. I gave him everything—my body, my fucking vulnerability, my trust—and he threw it all away the second it got too real.

He said it couldn’t happen. Like he gets to fucking decide that for me.

I turn over in bed, pressing the heel of my palm to my forehead, trying to breathe, willing myself not to scream.

The harsh sunlight pours through the window, irritating me some more. I can still smell him on my skin, taste him on my lips, and most definitely feel the ache between my legs.

Whatever.

I snatch my phone off the nightstand with enough force to make the lamp wobble; my thumb flies across the screen as if it had personally wronged me.

Catalina

Meet me in town for brunch and booze. It’s a fucking emergency.

Catalina

I swear to God, if someone doesn’t meet me for bottomless mimosas and a blunt, I will burn this entire state to the ground.

Catalina

I’m unwell. UN. WELL.

Catalina

I’m literally screaming into the fucking void.

My screen immediately lights up, flooding with messages.

Layla

WHAT HAPPENED??? WHO DO I STAB.

Layla

Wait. Did you finally fuck the cowboy???

Amelia

Is he dead or just emotionally gutted?

Layla

Is it bad that I’m rooting for both??

Catalina

HE STOPPED.

Layla

…like mid-thrust???

Amelia

Oh shit.

Catalina

Not even mid thrust, bitch. We were grinding. I was drenched, soaked enough to fill the fucking ocean. He was rock hard underneath me.

Catalina

AND THEN HE STOPPED LIKE A FUCKING COWARD.

Layla

Literal jail.

Layla

LETS RIOTTTTTT.

Amelia

Is it wrong that I’m impressed you didn’t slap him with a skillet?

Catalina

Give it time, bitch.

Layla

Anywaysssss, what are we wearing to brunch???

I toss my phone onto the bed, ripping the blanket off myself. The only thing that’s getting me through this morning without breaking down or throwing a boot at Carter’s head is syrup-soaked carbs and gossip.

I smooth my hands down the curve-hugging black maxi dress that clings to every inch of me like a second skin.

Perfect .

Throwing Carter’s truck into drive with a satisfying jerk of the gearshift, I tear out of the long ranch driveway like I’m fleeing the scene of a crime. Which, technically, I am.

Stealing his keys? Crime.

Leaving without telling him? Definitely a crime .

Looking this hot while doing it? Probably a felony in several states.

I’m too fucking furious to care. The second I found his keys sitting there on the kitchen counter, flashing in the morning light, I snatched them up without a single goddamn thought.

If he didn’t want me driving off in his truck like a psychopath, maybe he shouldn’t have gotten me all worked up, dragging me to the edge of absolute bliss, then left me there soaked, breathless, and emotionally violated.

The truck rumbles beneath me like it’s pissed on his behalf, but I don’t slow down. I keep one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other resting on my thigh.

My mind is already a minefield, buzzing with everything I’m about to unload on my girls—and every furious, heart-bruised thought I’m refusing to let spill out before there’s a mimosa in my hand and someone calls me dramatic in a loving tone.

The truck hums under me, tires crunching over gravel as I floor it down the back road. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the warm breeze, but it’s not enough to cool the inferno roaring behind my chest.

Buzz.Buzz.Buzz.

I glance at the glowing screen in the passenger seat, dread already tightening in my gut.

I swerve off to the side of the road and throw the truck into park, dust kicking up around me like even the earth knows I’m about to fucking lose it.

I snatch my phone off the passenger seat and read the message I was already expecting.

Carter

Where the hell are you?

Catalina

Driving the truck of the man who ground his hard cock into me and then fled the scene like a little bitch. Get fucked.

Carter

Catalina…

Catalina

Oh, we’re using full names now? Cute. Really cute.

Carter

We need to talk.

Catalina

No thanks. Talking didn’t seem to be your strong suit last night when you were too busy panting against my neck, calling me darlin’.

Carter

Catalina, please.

Catalina

??? ??? ???, ????????, ???????? ??????? (Eat garbage, you unbearable, sexy man.)

With a furious growl, I slam my phone back into my purse so hard it rattles against my lip gloss and a million trinkets. My foot slams against the gas pedal, tires kicking up a fuck-you cloud of gravel behind me.

How dare he? How can he kiss me like that—kiss me like I’m the only fucking woman in the world, then pull away like I’m some catastrophic error in judgment?

How can he touch me, tease me, and then vanish into the shadows like some brooding bastard?

I opened myself up to him. I cried in front of him.

I let him see the parts of me I usually bury under sarcasm.

And what does he fucking do?

Apologizes. Retreats like a pussy. Like, I’m the one who made it weird.

Asshole.

The drive into Ruby Ridge isn’t long, but it drags like my emotional damage–heavy and impossible to ignore.

The trees blur past me, green and peaceful, which only pisses me off more because nothing about me feels calm right now.

I’ve got Carter’s truck vibrating under my thighs and a low-simmering fury boiling just beneath my ribcage.

When I finally roll into town, I slam the truck into park outside the tiny brunch spot. My heels click against the sidewalk as I make my way into the café, narrowed eyes scanning until I spot them through the big front window instantly.

My girls, my chaos twins, the only two people on this planet who won’t tell me I’m being dramatic even when I absolutely am.

Amelia is already leaned back in her seat with her tattooed arms crossed, wearing her signature bitch face. Layla, of course, is bouncing around like a gorilla, waving so violently I think she might throw her shoulder out.

Time to fucking spill.

Maple and Magnolia is every small-town brunch dream.

White wooden chairs, hanging plants, and the scent of fresh coffee and maple syrup fills the air.

Locals murmur over their plates, the occasional cowboy tipping his hat at the waitresses.

I beeline straight to the booth, where the two people who know every dark corner of my brain are waiting.

“Finally, bitch,” Amelia says the second I slide into the booth, her brows raised like she’s already halfway through reading me for filth. “You’re late.”

Tossing my purse onto the seat beside me, I shrug like I didn’t just nearly spin off the highway driving Carter’s stupid truck in heels.

“I’m never late, hoe. Time just moves differently when you’re spiraling.”

Layla is practically foaming at the mouth across from me, sipping her mimosa like it’s the nectar of divine gossip. There’s a full-body sparkle radiating off her, and she keeps making these little squeaky noises, which is never a good sign.

I narrow my eyes at her. “Okay, what the fuck’s gotten into you? You look different.”

She squeals, leaning forward so hard her straw falls out of her drink. “Nothingggg! I just love it out here. The air, the vibes, and the... hot, emotionally repressed bartender named Reed.”

Amelia’s head whips around so fast I’m surprised it didn’t snap.

“Aren’t you engaged?” she snaps, green eyes narrowing like daggers.

Layla’s face shutters instantly, the glow dimming, her spine going stiff. “Yeah. I am. I don’t want to talk about that bastard.” She scoffs, pushing a fresh mimosa towards me. “Anywaysssss. Spill, bitch.”

I take the glass gratefully, knocking it back. My heart’s racing, my tongue feels thick, but the second the citrusy alcohol hits my bloodstream, my mouth unlocks like a floodgate.

“Okay,” I say, letting out a breath, setting the glass down, and leveling them both with a look. “Don’t fucking judge me.”

Amelia leans in so fast her tattooed elbows almost knock over her drink. “Never, babe. Judgment-free zone. Now tell us, what happened? ”

Layla hisses like a goblin. “TELL USS.”

I let out a humorless laugh, tipping the mimosa glass toward my lips again before shaking my head. “Okay, so, as you know, I made out with Carter. Actually, no, I grinded on Carter. I almost got myself off in his lap, then he stopped like an actual asshole.”