A Small Town Enemies to Lovers Romance
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The rules were simple.
Keep my hands off his daughter and stay out of trouble.
But now I'm stuck with her.
There's only one bed.
And well, rule...
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Kip: Pick up your phone, you pretty motherfucker.
Rhett: You think I'm pretty?
Kip: I think you picking that one specific detail out of my text means you're an idiot.
Rhett: But a pretty one?
Kip: Answer. Your. Fucking. Phone.
Kip: Or be here at two p.m. so I can shake you in person.
The plane touches down at the Calgary airport, and I'm relieved to be home.
Especially after the clusterfuck that was the last couple of days.
The guy I punched isn't pressing charges, but I'm not sure how much money my agent, Kip, offered him to make that happen. It doesn't matter. If anyone can make this all go away, It's Kip.
He's been trying to call me, which is a clue he's losing his mind because we have more of a texting relationship. which is why when I power my phone up before I'm supposed to, I'm not surprised to see his name lighting up on my screen.
Again.
I haven't answered because I'm not in the mood for listening to him yell at me. I want to hide. I want silence. Birds. A hot shower. Some Tylenol. And a date with my hand to ease some tension.
Not necessarily in that order.
That's what I need to get my head back in the game. A quiet break at home while this blows over. The older I get, the longer the season seems, and somehow, at only thirty-two years old, I feel old as balls.
My body hurts, my mind is full, and I'm craving the quiet of my family ranch. Sure my brothers are going to annoy the fuck out of me, and my dad is going to talk to me about when I'm planning on quitting, but that's family. That's home.
I suppose there's a reason us boys keep coming back. We're co-dependent in a way our little sister isn't. She took one look at a bunch of grown-ass men living on a farm together and got the hell outta dodge.
I make a mental note to call Violet and check up on her all the same.
My head tips back against the cramped seat while the plane rolls to a stop on the runway. "Welcome to beautiful Calgary, Alberta." The cabin fills with the flight attendant's voice and the loud clicking of people undoing their seatbelts before they're supposed to.
I follow suit. Eager to get out of the small seat and stretch my limbs.
"If Calgary is home for you, welcome home..."
You'd think that after over a decade of playing this game, I'd be better at booking my flights and hotels. Instead, I'm constantly scrambling to grab a last-minute spot, which suits me just fine. Even though I'm feeling a little claustrophobic.
