by Leanne Davis
Stupid hormones were always a waste of time in her opinion.
When Kyomi went back to Reed Ranch, she paused outside the door and hated herself for the hesitation. She had every right to come and go; it’s what Asher expected from her. Hunter was the interloper here, the one showing up naked in a shared living space: the damn kitchen. Gross. Really. Except she found him stunning, and that pissed her off all the more. Now she felt things that were weird, things she could not get out of her mind when facing him. That was so unlike her. Getting so nervous over a guy? No. Kyomi didn’t do that.
Kyomi enjoyed men. She felt more comfortable being around a group of guys than any group of women. Guys were her real friends. Her hang-out, have-fun, go-to group. Her first preference. She simply got along better with men. They usually lived their lives with blunt honesty, the way she preferred. No games or passive innuendoes to alarm one’s thoughts and feelings. She liked doing things without worrying about anyone’s feelings. Enjoying the company of others without any drama. When she’d noticed Asher at a fellow rancher’s cattle auction, she’d instantly realized she had to meet him. She’d boldly walked up to him and simply asked if he were Asher Reed before introducing herself. From then on, they’d dated, had sex, and became great friends. More than anything else, they were great friends.
Now an intruder, Hunter, disturbed the peace and comfort she and Asher shared, and even worse, shattered the easiness and sense of confidence she treasured at Asher’s house.
Why? Because now she hesitated. Suddenly acknowledging her doubts and the stupid, silly, niggling feelings of… what? She hated to admit it might be vanity. She squirmed with embarrassment at the thought of facing the way-too-hot man that was Asher’s cousin. She was not hot. Nor sexy, nor pretty. She was awesome to hang out with though. She knew that from all the guy friends who praised her for being such a great friend, gal, and woman that she was. But not a sexy woman like most of their girlfriends. Kyomi was always the great friend. Almost always anyway. Her natural ease around guys came from hanging out with too many to count, yet this one had her nerves jumping on edge and she detested the repercussions. How could he, a man who had no idea about her self-worth or her life in general, cause her to doubt her frequent visits there? How could he be the one to make her consider altering her interactions with Asher and her usual activity at his house? It was so stupid. He had no authority to say how she should live her life here.
Yet her brain endured the mental gymnastics of worry over someone she’d barely said hello to. This was why she hated the dating scene and hormonal attraction. Perhaps those useless, giddy, girlie feelings were suddenly emerging because she had the best boyfriend and all that.
A boyfriend whose long-term relationship with another woman ended tragically, yet still romantically. The need for space, distance, and mutual fulfillment of life dreams had come between their epic love, but not for the typical, petty reasons like boredom, anger, arguments, annoyances, outgrowing each other, cheating, and the other usual reasons. No, those issues did not exist between Asher Reed and Daisy Rydell.
While she and Asher shared a rare relationship nirvana by reciprocating with each other, devoting themselves to the relationship and investing the same amount of feelings. All by remaining exactly who they were and being honest with each other.
But now, stupid Hunter Rydell had to show up and put a wrench in that blissful peace for her.
No. She valued her special place as part of Reed Ranch and he could not take it from her. Kyomi entered the front door and set her things in the chair where she always did. Then she set out the bags of dinner groceries she dragged along with her on the kitchen counter.
“So you’re the non-diva girlfriend that I offended and got bawled out for flashing my ass?!”
Startled, Kyomi turned from the open refrigerator at the sound of Hunter’s voice. He stood in the entry she just walked through. There once was a door there but now only a framed opening, part of Asher’s structural remodel to give the house a more modern, open floor plan. But the transom was still lower than the rest of the ceiling due to where the door once hung. Hunter was tall enough to grip the edge of the framed-in transom with both hands and he leaned forward, staring at her.
Steeling her nerves and her heart, she turned and fully faced him. “You deserved it after blinding me with that huge, white ass that obviously never saw the light of day.”
He stared at her for a moment, expressionless before letting out a grunt and a laugh. “Blinding-white maybe, but I’ve gotten way too many compliments to believe it’s ‘huge.’ I admit maybe it was a bit much to encounter inside my cousin’s kitchen.”
“At four forty-two in the afternoon? You think? Way too much for the place I have to cook in.”
She held his gaze, calming her nerves instantly. She would not get tongue-tied or silly, gawking in her attraction toward him. No. She could never be like that. Not with anyone, especially the married relative of her boyfriend.
Then his perfect, sculpted, sneering face lifted on one side in a half-smirk. There was no smile. Obviously, the man had zero to smile about as of now. But then he said, “Deserved ass-whipping. I’m sorry about that. I’ve been… uh—”
Her mouth loosened the scowl. “Yeah. Just don’t keep doing it.”
“You cook, huh?” Hunter seemed to decide he was automatically invited for dinner. “Asher can’t and doesn’t cook. Not at all, or at least, not for me. So what’s on the menu for tonight?”
Her jaw unhinged. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”
“Well, aren’t you cooking?” He peeked into one of the two grocery bags she set on the counter. “I mean, I’m here, you’re here, sure. Why not?”
“Because I don’t know you. Do you so smugly assume that I enjoyed how we met? Both times? You stumbled in here one night mumbling some petty, daytime talk show dramatic shit, and the next time I see you naked? In the kitchen, no less. Am I supposed to find that charming?” She held her face still, raising one eyebrow. He looked at her, scowling long and hard as he considered her swift assessment of his life. She was brutal, almost rude, but her nerves were hammering again and she could not calm down as long he stood so close to her. She could smell his soap, and feel his warmth and energy… along with all the other fanciful things women feel about men. She felt him like that. She could not describe the full strength of those feelings.
But his scowl remained. Deeply etched. Forever? Maybe. Considering the impact of his wife’s recent betrayal.
Then he laughed out loud. There was no real smile. But at least he had a laugh. A great, robust, infectious laugh.
“No, I guess not, now that you articulate it so clearly. So I’m not charming. But I am here. And I’m starving and my wife is fucking her stepbrother, so maybe in a moment of mercy or even pity you could let me have a little nibble of whatever you’re going to make.”
“What if you dislike it? You seem like the picky type. I don’t cater to picky eaters.”
He tilted his head curiously. “What about me says picky right now?”
She had to bite her tongue. He wore sweats and a t-shirt. Clothes she knew didn’t belong to him. “Those are Asher’s. I recognize them. You don’t even own a pair of sweatpants or a t-shirt or anything so casual as that, do you? Asher described your city-life. I know you wear a flower in your suit jacket just because. So, yes, I think you are picky and snobby.”
“He told you all that?”
“He is my boyfriend. No matter what you may assume otherwise.”
He winced. “Sorry. It’s just—” Hunter’s voice dropped off abruptly.
“It’s just that Asher is still in love with Daisy. You knew them together. You know he still loves her so you feel sorry for me? Or think I’m no more than a bed buddy? Or that he’s playing me? Maybe you even feel bad for the little country girl who couldn’t possibly measure up to the beautiful Daisy Rydell and the grand, tragic love she shared with Asher Reed?” Kyomi slammed down th
e package of bread rolls she was pulling out of the bag as she spoke. “But let me tell you, I am Asher’s girlfriend. Right here and now. Daisy isn’t here as you can see. She chose not to be. So stop dropping your sad voice at me. I know exactly who and what I am to Asher, and believe me, he’s fucking lucky to have me. And what’s more, Hunter Rydell? He knows it.”
She shocked him with her passionate soliloquy. And promptly resisted the urge to double over with disgust. What the hell? Why would she say that? Go off on him like that? Why was he looking at her like she was the poor, pathetic, used woman? No. Nah. And damn it! Why the rush of feelings and uncomfortable reactions to Hunter, when that happened with no one else? Probably because of the stupid city snooty energy that hovered around him. Even if he wore borrowed sweats and a t-shirt, he wasn’t at home in them, and everything about him said that.
His mouth fell open. For once the tragedy of his own life seemed to escape him. He was staring at her with true shock. “I—I didn’t know. That you knew. I mean, Asher told me he told you… but I wasn’t sure you fully grasped…”
Taking a long breath, she nodded and turned towards the cabinet to pull out a pan. “I grasped it all. I know. I know it all. We’re good. No need to feel sorry for me.”
“Right. I apologize if I came off that way.”
She set the pan on a stove burner. Shutting her eyes, staring down at the empty pan, she sucked in deep breath of air, both for courage and patience. “Sorry too. I overreacted. I just don’t like to be seen as someone sad or pathetic. You’re her cousin, so I’m sure you’re on her side. But I am not sloppy seconds for Asher. We chose each other. With full awareness and honesty.”
It was quiet behind her. She didn’t look at him. Then his voice, so real and sad, in almost a whisper replied, “That’s rare. I’m sorry. I did think the other, but I clearly see it’s not that way.”
Of course not. Why would Asher choose ordinary Kyomi over the extraordinary Daisy? She cringed. She never felt insecure like that. Not in regard to Daisy. Not even when Asher spoke of her with blatant fondness. But knowing this stranger thought that of her made her all green-eyed and jealous of Daisy and she was suddenly hopelessly insecure.
“But how do you know these aren’t my clothes?”
She fixed a purposefully casual grin on her face. “Again, my boyfriend’s wardrobe is familiar to me. And you wear a flower in your lapel… so different a creature than I get. But those sweats aren’t yours or your style and you are very picky. Tell me I’m wrong?”
“A boutonniere. That’s what I wear in my lapel.”
She rolled her eyes, tilted her head and gave him a look that showed her disdain for his lofty ways. “No dude I know wears a flower in his suit.”
“Kind of sexist, aren’t you?”
She stilled. Never before been accused of that. “No. But I guess I just was. So okay, wear all the flowers you want, you’re such a manly man.”
She winced. That was mean. And she only did it to keep herself in line, not him. Because there was no doubt in her mind anymore; she found him obviously man enough for her. But he did wear frilly things she’d never known any other man to wear. “Excuse that. I just don’t have a lot of experience with men like you. Honestly? Other than at funerals, I don’t know any men whose suits have lapels or who have the first clue how to accessorize them. Doesn’t mean the men I do know well are the only way to be.”
“I spent my entire life defending my sense of style to the men around here. Believe me. I was raised here. You think there is anything I haven’t already heard? Or been teased about? Just made me stronger. Surer of who I was. I had to be. I refused to kowtow to anyone with expectations for how I ‘should’ be, coming from River’s End. Fuck that. I’m the man I was born to be. And so what if that’s also a man who adores a well-cut suit? Who must wear a well-cut suit? And no, you’re right, I own nothing like this outfit. But in my defense, I brought zero with me when I walked out on my wife, and our apartment, and my former life, including my entire wardrobe and… now I have only Asher’s castoffs to call my attire.”
She shut her eyes. She was suddenly horrified at herself. She allowed her unusual reaction to him, which she found upsetting and confusing, as a reason and permission to be awful to him. As if that justified taking out her insecurities on him. She’d never done such a thing before. “I’m so sorry. I was awful just now. I think I felt a little insecure. You know? Like you’re here, all the time. I come and go at will and it isn’t always about Asher. I was worried your presence here could affect mine. I guess I was trying to pick a fight.”
“I was rather unfit for company during both times you were unfortunately exposed to me, pardon the pun. So, if you’ll forgive me for those unpleasant introductions, can we start over?”
She turned when he tapped on her shoulder and held his hand out in front of her… to what? Shake? Make nice? She glared at his large hand, and then at his face. He had freckled hands, with tapered, manicured nails. No man she’d ever shaken hands with had manicured nails. Swallowing hard, she pressed her hand on his, granting his plea to start over.
“Okay. Starting over… now,” she muttered, ignoring the zap of energy when their hands touched. There was nothing easy or casual about their handshake. Not for her. Her entire face blossomed with heat.
“And I won’t be picky. Just appreciative. Please, Naomi?”
Her former good feelings wilted in a swift second. He didn’t even know her name. Here she was all but swooning for him. Damn. He could be so charming it was impossible not to like him. Until the dawning realization that he was all show and no substance. He didn’t even know her name.
Withdrawing her hand, she gnashed her teeth, walking over and slamming her hand down into the paper bag so his view inside it was obscured. Grabbing some vegetables, she took them to the refrigerator and started smacking them around inside as she stowed them away.
He obviously picked up on her icy change of attitude.
“What? Did I say something wrong?”
Whirling around, eyebrows raised, head tilted, she said, “That’s not my name.” She hated grinding her teeth and detested herself for showing any reaction to him at all.
His charming poor-me plea almost fooled her, until she realized he didn’t know her name. He hadn’t bothered to listen well enough to Asher just to learn her name.
“My name is not Naomi. So no. I won’t cook for you. I will cook for my boyfriend.”
He winced at her harsh words. She turned and started to withdraw her hand to go wash up and start the dinner prep when his touch stopped her dead. She froze to a standstill and shut her eyes to resist turning around. His fingertips were touching her wrist. Not grabbing it. Not clutching it, just staying there.
“I’m sorry. If I misheard your name that night. I’d been on a three-day bender of alcohol, and only sobered up long enough to drive here. My thoughts were—No, let me be clear and honest, if that’s okay?”
She finally turned to face him, tugging her zinging hand back to rest against her body. “I prefer the truth.”
He nodded. “I think Asher mentioned that. About your mutual preference and expectation for brutal honesty. Lucky guy. But my wife? She’s not honest, or forthright and never fully wanted to be like that, I think. She was more into mental gymnastics, trying to figure out how to discuss unpleasant things with me. Anyway, that’s beside the point. I came here out of desperation that night, to avoid harming my wife and her lover. Never prone to violence before, I must assure you, I was very prone then. The thoughts startled and concerned me. So I fled from them and came here. Asher would never fail to take me in and calm me down; he’s the most pragmatic, non-dramatic person I know.”
At least he knew and appreciated the same things she did with Asher.
He gave her face a once-over. “I think you are just like that. Yes?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. His lyrical way of speaking matched his voice cadence pleasantly and it seemed to fill up h
er head like melted, warm honey. “I am.”
“Well, so truth is: I wanted to hurt my wife and her lover, her incestuous stepbrother being someone I worked with, along with his father. I haven’t begun to figure out the situation. But that is how I came to be here, like this. Like I was that night. I drank all night telling Asher. Maybe purging myself, to be honest. Then I passed out around seven a.m. Slept until three. I did that for several days until I could not stand myself another moment. I finally had a shower and desperately needed some water and crackers so I came down here… but being in the middle of nowhere, I just really didn’t think anyone was around. I’m sorry for assuming that and making you uncomfortable and all. I get it now. You’re his girlfriend. That takes top priority and, of course, you should come and go safely without my blinding-white ass in your face, both literally and metaphorically. I swear I’ll do better.”
She blinked her surprise at his long-winded confession and explanation. Eyeing him with a neutral look, she said, “I only cook for people who address me by my name.”
“That was the thing, he told me when I got here, but I was too wrapped up in my own pity party. I know that. I see it. I’m sorry for that too. But I just didn’t catch it if it isn’t Naomi. I swear, I didn’t know I got your name wrong.”
She gave him a long evil-eye. He threw up his hands and added, “Just one break and I swear I’ll be better.”
