Protective and Possessive

Three: Besties

It's been a long couple of weeks. Supposedly Mr. Sparkly Green Eyes has a name- and it's Hawke. 

We've basically ignored each other all week. 

Except when we are insulting each other... which is most of the day. 

I can't believe my dad didn't even give me a heads up about this. He's never hired a high school kid before- the youngest employee he's had was five years older than himself, which was when my dad was thirty. 

Right now we're fencing. Just the two of us. Seven strand barbed wire with eight-foot steel posts. The past week we've been putting in ten to twelve-hour days. I can't say I'm not used to it though, and apparently, neither can Hawke. 

It's obvious that he works, you can see that his muscles were earned from intense labor and hard work. I would guess ranching or farming. Probably bucking bales. 

Besides the point. Tonight, we have a Saturday party. Usually, my parents are super good about letting me do things, especially since I've been a good, responsible kid. I tell the truth and am honest about who I'm with, what I've been doing, and where I plan to be. 

I do have to text them when I'm leaving from wherever it is. Even though they have this app called Life360 that they can literally track me on. 

I'm so ready for that party. Our party's here are awesome. I know that most people say that, but I've been to a few out of town, and they aren't near as fun. 

Every party is different. We always do them in different locations and do new things each time. One time we had a pool party, once we did an unsupervised lock-in at the school, another time we set up a drive-in movie theater. 

Tonight we're doing a bonfire out in the field. Well, not field really, more like the end of the field where there aren't any crops to be burnt down. 

We always have awesome music, good food, and super fun games that we play. Sometimes we get to have races on the abandoned airplane runway after. But only sober people get to race. We refuse to allow anyone that's been near the alcohol to drive. 

I like to go and let loose after a long week. It helps me to let everything go and get it off my mind when I can go dance with people and alone, and not give a dang what anyone else thinks. 

I finish putting the last clip on my section before wiping the sweat off the back of my neck with a cotton, long sleeve button-up. You'd think that they'd be hot, but they actually keep you cooler because they keep the sun off your skin, and allow a little air to slip up the cuffs. 

Built-in AC. 

I glance down the line, to see Hawke wrapping all the braces up. I told him I could do it, but he just scoffed and rolled his eyes. And then told me to go do something more my speed. 

Hate that boy. 

But I could watch him work all day. His tan skin molding to those constantly flexing muscles, his deep look of concentration, how that muscle in his jaw jumps when he's trying to problem-solve or frustrated. 

Forget about that. Pretty boys can get away with everything. But the thing is... he's not only the pretty boy. 

He is the hateful, arrogant, hard-working jerk that actually doesn't want me to work and tries to take all the hard jobs...

Or so I'm trying to tell myself so that I can at least say he has one redeeming quality. 

I walk over to his truck, which his dad used that first day. It's his work truck. 

His work truck. 

Even my dad's nicer truck isn't that brand-new. 

I cringe even thinking about the down-payment on that thing. But they probably could afford to pay it off in cash out of their pocket.