Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

that go just to my knees hanging low on my hips and a shirt small enough to be considered a sports bra, but who’s considering? My hair’s pulled up into a messy bun, and I head out to meet Ben at my car. My isolated car, parked way out behind the stables. My dad’s quad is gone, and I assume Bentley’s there already so I slip on sandals and grab the keys for the other machine.
    It’s an amazing day, but I can’t tell if it’s any different than any other day or I’m just happy I’m off the hook for chores. Ten days of no chores. Either way, I enjoy the warm wind on my face as I make my way to the horse stable. I turn into the lane, steering toward the other quad parked along the fence. I pull up and jump off, rounding the corner of the barn to say hi to Belle when I find Bentley in the exact same spot I first met him two weeks ago.
    His back is to me, and it doesn’t seem like he knows I’m here. Which is crazy because those quads are stupid loud.
    “ I’m not coming home, Sash. I don’t know why she thinks it makes a difference if you call or her. Although I definitely like you better right now, which is saying something.” Ben’s voice is loud and irritated, like the last time I caught him on the phone.
    “ No,” he continues. “No. Tell her to deal with it. It’s not my problem he left it to me. I didn’t want it. I don’t want it. I will never want it.”
    I suddenly feel uncomfortable, like I’m really not supposed to hear this. I take a step back when he turns and sees me. He doesn’t flinch. He must have heard me. He holds up a finger and turns away.
    “ Sash, I love you. Really I do, but let it go okay? I just can’t. I can’t.”
    His last words burn through my chest as the memory of him walking away take over. Saying I can’t, then leaving. The burn spreads through me, and I do turn and walk away. I’m sitting on the quad just about to start it when I hear footsteps, and he takes ahold of my elbow.
    “ Gracie? Where are you going?” His frown burns into me. Burns me. Everything about him burns me. I can’t stop it, and no matter what I do it just keeps burning.
    “ Why am I not good enough for you?” I blurt out. I did not mean to say that. I don’t know where it came from but it’s out, and by the look on his face, he definitely heard me.
    His eyes soften, and his eyebrows pull together in concern mixed with confusion.
    “ What? Why would you think that?”
    I look down into my lap. I said it. I’m going to have to explain it, but the problem is I don’t even know how to explain it to myself.
    “ You wouldn’t kiss me.” I don’t look up to gauge his reaction, but I see his feet. He steps closer to me and takes my hands. They’re rough, but soft. Smooth and calloused. Warm.
    “ Look at me.”
    Slowly I lift my head. I’m embarrassed, which is another new thing for me. I don’t get thrown off my game. Bentley smiles that illegal smile of his, and I can’t help but return it.
    “ Don’t ever think that, Gracie. Just because I didn’t kiss you, doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.” Ben drops my hands and cups my cheeks. My whole body sparks to life, everything running at top speed.
    “ Then do it now. Kiss me now,” I say.
    He laughs, lightly running his thumb over my bottom lip. By the way my limbs go numb, I'm glad I'm already sitting down. He leans in until our noses are almost touching, and like last night I am super aware of him, of his breathing, the way his eyes move over me, every cell of his skin touching mine. He tilts my head just a little and kisses the tip of my nose. It’s so soft I barely feel it. Then he looks me in the eye and smiles.
    “ No, Gracie.”
    My mouth drops open, but before I can protest, or pout, or demand, he presses my jaw shut with his thumbs.
    “ Not yet. I barely know you. I need to know you first,” he continues.
    I glare now. I can feel my energy darken. “You can’t tell me that you haven’t been to a party or something in L.A. and slept with some chick the first day you met her.”
    Bentley laughs hard. His hands drop from my face, and he steps back, “You’re a piece of work, Graceland Marie Holloway. And we’re not talking about some chick in L.A. We’re talking about you.”
    My mouth’s already open to make some rude comment, but it shuts immediately. I’ve got nothing. No matter what I say, I’m screwed. If I agree with him that I’m different then he wins, I lose. If I disagree, I’m basically