Arrogant Devil

by R.S. Grey

  “Looks like we’ve finally found some common ground,” I say, kicking off my sneakers and stuffing my socks inside. “You go on ahead and make sure to scare off any snakes.”

  I chance a quick glance behind us to confirm we’re alone then strip off my t-shirt and shorts—not that it even matters if a ranch hand sees us since my underwear and bra provide more coverage than most of the bikinis I used to own.

  “How is it?” I ask after I stow my things on dry land and make my way to the creek’s edge. The water’s so nice and clear, I’ll be able to see my feet on the algae-covered pebbles. “Refreshing?”

  My toes hit the water and I let out a wild “AH!”

  It’s FREEZING.

  Alfred turns and looks at me, head tilted.

  “How is it so cold!?” I cry. “Is this runoff from a freaking glacier?”

  He ignores me and goes back to leaping around in the water. Right. I take another few steps, hissing and huffing and puffing as I get acclimated to the temperature. I know I’m being a wimp, and I’ll never make it all the way in at this rate. There’s only one way to swim in cold water, and that’s by plunging under in one quick go. So, I inhale, hold my nose, and dive.

  Cold water blasts me from all sides like I just dropped myself into an ice bucket. It’s so cold it burns, but then just like that, my body is used to it. I break the surface and whip my hair out of my face.

  “Woo!”

  Alfred barks and doggy-paddles toward me.

  We swim farther from the edge, but I’m still a few yards away from where the current looks the strongest in the center of the creek. Where I am, there’s nothing to worry about.

  Alfred swims toward me with a stick then drops it on the water’s surface, nudging it forward with his nose. I take the hint and toss it toward shore, and he darts after it, fetching it back to me in record time. We repeat the cycle for a while. My arm starts to ache, but I push through the pain because he looks so damn happy. Eventually, out of desperation, I toss the stick into the current and say, “No more!” then flop back to float on my back. My arms and legs stretch out around me as I tilt my chin to the sky and close my eyes. He circles me like a shark.

  “What do you think of your master?” I ask lazily.

  He barks.

  “I know, handsome, but that personality—rough around the edges, to say the least.”

  He licks my hand.

  “Oh, you think he has a softer side too? Maybe. Edith seems to think there’s still some love left in him, but I’m not so sure. I wonder if he ate those cookies or if he just tossed them out the window as soon as I left the room.” He doesn’t say anything and I feel like a jerk. “Oh I’m sorry, Alfred! I just realized I didn’t give you any. How rude of me to bring it up.”

  He forgives me because he’s a dog and he doesn’t speak English. Also, I think he’s my best friend.

  We keep swimming and I lose track of time. My fingers turn into prunes. I’m starting to feel the temperature of the water again and I’m pretty sure my lips are purple by this point, but I can’t get out yet. All this alone time has given me the chance to reflect on how far I’ve come, how much I’ve accomplished since that cab driver kicked me out in the middle of nowhere. Additionally, I’m inspired by my progress with Alfred, how far I’ve been able to get out of my comfort zone. With that in mind, I have a mission before we head back to the house: test out that rope swing.

  “Alfred, if I die, you can have all the money in my checking account.”

  17

  Jack

  Meredith has done a complete about-face in recent days. Ever since Sunday morning, when she told me—with splotchy cheeks and puffy eyes—to not bother fixing up the shack, she’s been hardly recognizable. It’s like she’s walking on eggshells around me, and if possible, I find it more annoying than when she was giving me hell. I don’t have a problem with being nice; I have a problem with people being fake nice. I can tell she’s keeping herself restrained. When I snapped at her for color-coordinating my closet, I could see the shackled passion behind her eyes. I think she wanted to tell me to eat shit, but she just smiled and cowed.

  Something isn’t right.

  Edith swears she hasn’t noticed the change, but then again, I can’t really trust Edith when it comes to Meredith. She’s been on her side from the beginning.

  This morning, she told me to go easier on her.

  “She’s a nice girl,” she said in Meredith’s defense. “One who, for reasons beyond my comprehension, puts up with you.”

  “Yeah, well it seems everyone’s seen Meredith’s ‘nice girl’ side but me.”

  “A mean dog doesn’t ever see a cat purring. You make her hackles go up. You’ve been nothing short of cruel since she first arrived.”

  Maybe that’s why Meredith has changed her attitude around me. Maybe she agrees with Edith about how I’ve been acting and she’s sick of me losing my temper with her.

  Who cares? I remind myself I don’t have time to worry about Meredith or her opinion of me.

  After I wrap up work for the day, I go looking for Alfred. It’s been a few days since I’ve played fetch with him. Normally he hangs around me all day, but he’s been noticeably absent lately.

  I don’t find him around the farmhouse, and when I ask Edith, she says the last time she saw him he was heading down to the creek.

  Odd.

  He’s never wandered down that far without me. Our property is huge, but he prefers to stick close to the house, which is convenient for me because then I don’t have to chase him down at the end of the day.

  I set off down the trail, appreciating the solitude. I haven’t gone down this way in a while. When I was a kid, I lived at the creek in the summer. My friends and I would fill our inner tubes and hike over to the top of the property so we could catch the current and float all the way back down. For my twelfth birthday, my dad installed a rope swing on one of the oak trees and I spent months doing fool-ass backflips to impress the Carrie Suthers. My efforts weren’t in vain—she let me kiss her at the end of summer, right on the edge of the bank.

  I’m smiling, thinking about that summer, when I stumble upon a pile of clothes stowed on the path just up ahead. I don’t hear any voices, but Alfred’s definitely down here swimming with someone, and from the look of the jean shorts, it’s Meredith.

  I continue down the path, hear a small splash, and spot Alfred swimming in a circle in the creek, barking and whining with worry. There’s no Meredith in sight, but then a few seconds later, she breaks the surface of the water with a wild laugh.

  “There!” she declares proudly, wiping her dark hair away from her face. “Did you time me like I asked you to? I counted to 35 Mississippi, which is like four minutes in dog time!”

  Alfred barks right in her face, obviously glad to see she wasn’t drowning like he thought she was, and she doesn’t even flinch like I expect her to.

  “Okay, well then,” she continues, “you’ll just have to take my word that I just set a world record.”

  When I take a step toward the creek, a stick crunches underneath my shoe. Alfred’s ears perk up as he turns, spots me, and a second later, he’s bounding out of the water to say hello.

  Of course, he stops a foot in front of me and shakes like crazy, covering me with water. I hold out my hands, but it’s no use.

  “All right, all right! You got me!” I crouch down and pet him while he pants. He’s breathing hard and his barrel chest is heaving, which means they’ve probably been swimming for a while.

  “Okay, you’ve had your look! You can go now!”

  I jerk my head up and find Meredith retreating to the deep area, leaving only her head visible above the surface.

  I frown. “What?”

  “I don’t have a bathing suit on!”

  Jesus Christ, she’s naked?! Fuck. My gut clenches at the idea and in a flash, I push to stand and prop my hands on my hips. “You’d better not be skinny dipping in my damn creek!”

>   Of all the idiotic things she could be doing. Any ranch hand could easily wander down here and find her like this. I thought we discussed this the other day—her respecting the fact that this is a working ranch with dozens of young, hormonal dolts wandering around.

  “I’m not skinny dipping! I have my underwear on, you perv!”

  “Then there shouldn’t be a problem, and for the record, I came down here to find Alfred, not spy on you.”

  She stands and her shoulders become visible above the surface. They’re tan and freckled from the sun.

  “He followed me down here, uninvited—clearly takes after his master.”

  I glance down at my dog, who looks mighty proud of himself. “Yeah, well, he loves this place, and I haven’t taken him in a while.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.” I sigh. “I’ve been busy.”

  I glance over to see her bottom lip sticking out just a bit, her eyes downcast on the water. It almost looks like she feels sorry for me and I’m about to tell her not to bother, but then her eyes brighten and she smiles, snapping her attention up to me. I can see an idea forming in that pretty little head of hers.

  “Actually, I’m glad you’re here! Does that rope swing still work?”

  She’s pointing over to the old oak tree.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is it safe? Like if I try to swing off will it break and send me to my death?”

  I wipe away a smirk. “It’s sturdy. It’s been up there for years and it’s held much heavier than you.”

  She thinks about that for a second before replying, “Oh, you’ve used it before? So it’s held, what, like 400 pounds?”

  My eyebrow quirks like she just issued a dare. “Ha ha. You’re looking at the reigning backflip champion of Cedar Creek.”

  “Well, perfect. The truth is, I’ve been working up the courage to use it for the last thirty minutes, but I don’t want to go first.”

  I look around as if trying to find another willing participant. “I don’t see how you have any other option.”

  Her eyes meet mine as she smiles, and the air leaves my lungs like someone just drove a dagger straight into my chest. In that moment, there’s no denying that she’s gorgeous—not just pretty or sweet, but the most tempting heartbreaker I’ve ever seen. Her dark hair is wet and hanging in a tangled sheet around her face. Her eyelashes are long and thick, boldly framing expressive blue eyes. Her lips are dark red, and her small nose has the same dusting of freckles her shoulders have. She’s the girl next door all grown up, and she’s swimming in my creek in nothing but her underwear.

  “I want a tutorial from the supposed champ.”

  “I don’t have my bathing suit on.”

  My voice is flat and emotionless. I’m trying hard to step back in time to a few minutes ago, to when I hadn’t allowed those thoughts about her to take root in my mind. Acknowledging my attraction to her is a dangerous game I don’t want to play.

  “That’s a pitiful excuse,” she says, completely oblivious to what she’s doing to me right now. “I got in without a bathing suit. Also, I wash enough of your underwear to know you don’t go commando, so either shimmy out of those Wranglers and show me how it’s done or prepare to lose the crown.”

  I can’t resist giving in to the subtle temptation to flirt with her.

  “Y’know, you’re trying pretty hard to get me to strip. In fact, the last time a woman told me to take my jeans off and ‘show her how it’s done’, she wasn’t talking about a rope swing.”

  Her face goes beet red. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

  I grin and turn back to make sure we’re alone. If it’s just her and me, I can pretend like this isn’t a terrible idea. I can give in to the here and now and worry about the rest later.

  “Wait!” she shouts. I pause. “If you do stay and swim, you can’t get weird on me. Just pretend I’m wearing a tastefully conservative bikini instead of my undies.”

  I roll my eyes and start to work my t-shirt off over my head. “Meredith, don’t kid yourself. I’m not like those hands back there—I don’t lose control of myself at the first sight of bare skin.”

  “You’ve never seen my skin,” she taunts.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. It sounded cool in my head. Now just promise me.”

  I sigh as I kick off my boots and work the zipper of my jeans. “I promise that I, a grown man and not a horny teenage boy, won’t think twice about seeing you in your—how did you put it? Tastefully conservative underwear. Besides, I have the benefit of knowing you’re a married woman.”

  I meant to say the last part as a reminder to myself more than her—I’m practically panting at the idea that she’ll walk toward the shore and I’ll get a glimpse of her wet bra clinging to her curves—but the mention of her past and her husband back in California dampens the light in her eyes in one fell swoop. It’s like I just cut the music and flipped on the lights—party’s over.

  She turns to look up the creek, and I berate myself for once again putting my foot in my mouth. We were having a surprisingly good time, and I bet it could continue if I swallow my pride a little bit.

  “Forget I said that, okay? Here, look, I’m in my underwear now too, so we’re even.”

  She turns back and I catch the subtle way her eyes widen when she sees me standing on the shore in my boxers. She does the quickest scan from head to toe I’ve ever seen and then her gaze flips to the sky. She looks like she’s praying.

  “I thought it was implied that the whole ‘not getting weird’ thing goes both ways.”

  “No, no, I’m fine.” Her voice is high and squeaky, but she recovers fast. “Wait, so you really know how to do a backflip?”

  She sounds thoroughly impressed, and I can’t help but think, Move over, Carrie Suthers. Looks like my rope swing skills are still paying dividends.

  It takes her a few tries to toss the rope up to me on the shore, but then I grab hold of it and climb up to the highest part of the bank.

  “Shall I count down?” she asks.

  Alfred barks from a few yards down, anxious about what I’m about to do. He’s seen me swing plenty of times, but it still makes him nervous.

  “Sure.”

  “Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three—”

  “Meredith.”

  “Okay, threetwoone GO!”

  I jump off the ledge and arc out over the water. When the rope extends to the farthest point, right over the deepest part of the creek, I let go and allow muscle memory to take over. Warm wind rushes around me as I flip then plunge into the icy water with a splash. I kick up to the surface and shake off the feeling of tiny needles stabbing into my skin. I always forget just how intensely cold it is in the spring-fed creek. The water bubbles straight up from an underground aquifer, so it’s never warm, not even in the heat of summer.

  Meredith claps as I break the surface. “Bravo! I totally thought you were bluffing.”

  “It wasn’t bad for my first of the season. I’ll get more air next time.”

  “More air!? You were practically flying there for a second. How’d you do that?”

  “You’re just trying to talk your way out of your turn.”

  She feigns shock. “What? Me? No! I just want to hear all about how you learned to do a backflip. Tell me in excruciating detail. Don’t leave anything out.”

  “Meredith.”

  She throws up her hands and they splash back into the water. “All right! Okay. I’m going…”

  With a sigh, she starts swimming for the shore while I hold the end of the rope. For the record, I don’t try to leer at her as she walks out of the water. I have every intention of keeping my promise about not letting things get weird, but then the water starts to slip away inch by inch and I’m a man at a complete loss. The sun shines on the water in just the right way to create a shimmering reflection, and the effect is two Merediths, different but the same. One is an i
llusion, the other all too real.

  Holy hell.

  Her tan, toned back gives way to a small waist and long legs. Her bra is lacy and pale cream, sexier than I was expecting. Her underwear are full-coverage cotton panties, yet somehow I find them cute as hell, especially while they’re clinging to her ass.

  I knew she had a good body, but not a killer body—not a body that makes me abundantly grateful that the water concealing the lower half of my body is ice cold.

  Get a fuckin’ grip, I scold myself.

  Once she’s on the shore, she wraps her arms around her chest, as if she’s embarrassed, and then makes a mad dash to the rope swing.

  “Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.” She turns to me and probably sees that my brain has lost all control of motor function. “I said don’t look!”

  I slap my hand over my eyes comically. “There? Better?”

  “Yes. For the record, these aren’t thrift store tighty-whities. They’re designer tighty-whities.”

  “Really? I’m pretty sure they’re the same ones Edith wears. Cute that you guys match.”

  “Why do you know so much about your grandma’s unmentionables?”

  “Haven’t you heard the rumors about us in the Deep South?

  “Wow, is that a genuine joke from Jack McNight? Color me shocked. Now just throw me the rope, will you?”

  I drop the hand covering my eyes so I know where to aim. She’s forced to uncross her arms so she can catch it, and I really fucking wish she was wearing a different bra, something that matched her underwear, because the tiny lacy thing covering her chest is sopping wet and I doubt she realizes just how translucent it is. I’m pretty sure I can see the tips of her breasts, and for some reason, I miss the mark on my first few throws.

  “Jeez, you suck at this.”

  I don’t even respond because I know my voice would come out hoarse and crackly, like a twelve-year-old in his first week of puberty. I’ve never seen a sexier sight. A naked woman is one thing, but a woman barely concealed, covering just enough to make you wonder if you’re seeing something or if your eyes are just playing tricks on you? It is without comparison.