Page 12 of Buckin' Around

He’s up and out of the room before my fists have clenched and unclenched, cigar smoke trailing behind him.

What the fuck just happened?

Chapter 4

Riley

Stacey hands me my coat as I wait in the foyer to say good night to her parents. A shoulder slams into me as Spencer rushes from the drawing room in a bluster of curses.

“Fuck, sorry, I—” he mutters.

He rips his coat from the hook and flies out the door. It bangs against the wall in his wake. The chilly air from outside swirls in over the threshold, bringing light flakey snow with it.

The dinner may have well been a standoff of sorts; nobody spoke unless spoken to. Now I get what Stacey was saying about her family being a lot. I’ve never met two people who could communicate so much without breathing a word. And none of their sentiments were loving, or even friendly.

“You ready?” Stacey says, hooking her arm through mine.

“Absolutely. I’m dead on my feet, if I’m honest.”

I truly am. It’s been a long day and the last hour alone felt like an entire week. But if it’s the price I have to pay to keep a roof over my broke-ass head, I’ll suffer through it. Maybe, with a little more observation, I’ll figure out why this family is as cold as ice.

Maybe.

“Spencer left his hat.” She groans, plucking it off the wall and shoving it onto my head.

A little bewildered, I slide it off and look it over, turning it in my hands. It... smells divine. Like aftershave, all woodsy and sharp.

“He can pick it up tomorrow before he takes off to his midway full of dirt and cow shit.” She leaves the house, me following behind, white cowboy hat still in my grip.

“Bullshite.” The word blurts out as I close the door behind us and walk cautiously for the car over the white, slippery ground.

With a chuckle, she turns back. “What?”

“Well, technically, since he’s a bull rider, it would be bull shite, not cow shite.”

“Ah, yeah, right.”

She rounds the car, and we open the doors and slide in as quick as humanly possible to escape the cold, falling snow. I secure the seat belt over my chest and click it in before twisting to place the hat on the back seat.

“I have a half day of classes in the afternoon tomorrow, and my morning will be catching up on study I’m behind on,” I say as we pull out of the Lockwoods’ impressive circular drive. Stacey grips the wheel with both hands, and I can’t help but curl the fingers of my left hand around the edge of my seat, my other hand clinging to the door handle.

Like that would save me.

“Well, you will have the place to yourself. I have a full day of classes and then my shift at six. I’ll let Spencer know you’ll be home so he can collect his hat in the morning.”

“Sure.”

I let my gaze drift out the window, the snow-laden trees of the sprawling estates moving past as we drive along.

Twenty minutes later, Stacey pulls into the parking lot on campus, and we file out, rushing inside to keep the warmth. Cowboy hat in hand, I push through the door, and we shuck our coats. I swear Stace breathes a sigh of relief.

“Your parents are kind of intense,” I offer.

“You’re telling me. They’ve always been that way. Thanks again for coming tonight.”

“It’s not a problem. I hope your brother is okay. He seemed flustered when we were leaving.”

She huffs a laugh. “I’m sure he’s fine. My big brother doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to. Including his job, his degree, and whatever else our parents expect from us.”