CHAPTER 166

MOONA POV

I know Cain and Brian both think I’m being a lazy bitch who doesn’t give a shit, not for all the advice they’re trying to give me, and not for the way they sigh and shake their heads and try to work me out. I tell them nothing about the work I’m doing on the fences while they’re busy in their day jobs.

I tell them nothing about the way I leave Cain’s place every morning and dig around the outbuildings for supplies as soon as his big fancy car pulls off the driveway.

I keep my mouth shut because I’ve never done this kind of shit before and I don’t want to look like a total fucking idiot for getting it wrong. I’ve never hammered in fence posts and strung wire fencing, and trimmed back overgrown hedgerows and measured out planks before. I check out videos on my phone through Cain’s Wi-Fi whenever I’m grabbing a quick sandwich for lunch, and I may not have any swanky grades from school, but by the end of the first week of sorting out Cain’s neglected grounds, I think I might be okay at doing this stuff.

I think I might even be good at it.

My fences don’t look half bad, and they’re strong, too. I’ve tested them out by vaulting them and clambering over them and trying to wiggle them in the ground. My muscles are aching and I feel like I’ve run a marathon by the time Friday afternoon comes around, but there’s a weird glow in my belly.

I did something good.

Something I’m actually proud of.

And although I’m nervous about showing them, just in case I’m wrong and they tell me I’ve made a mess of it all, I’m excited about surprising them.

I’m excited about proving to them I’m not just some loser who’s watching daytime TV in Cain’s house every day.

It still hurts that Brian doesn’t want me.

It still hurts that he blew me out when I thought there was really something between us.

It’s been days now since he told me he’s not interested. He’s still kind but he’s guarded, and when he’s trying to talk me through whatever crappy agency he’s working out my fate with next, all I can think about is the way he’s so tense. It’s like he thinks I’m going to jump him any second. Like I don’t know what I’m not interested means and stand a chance of making more of a tit out of myself than I already did with him.

No fear there.

And then there’s Cain. Cain who I first thought was nothing but a douche with a load of money. Cain, who I thought for sure would chuck me onto the street and never want to see me again.

Cain who now gives me a beer every evening and talks straight, no bullshit and no dicking about. He says what he thinks, and what he thinks is that I’m being a bitch to Brian without good reason.

He doesn’t know how much it stings to want someone who doesn’t want you back.

But now things are getting complicated, because a few weeks ago I thought all I ever wanted was Brian.

The way his eyes are firm but kind. The way he doesn’t want to let me down. The way I know his calmness would disappear the minute his suit came off and I got my mouth around that big dick I know he’s packing. I’ve seen the promise of it when he’s hard but tries to hide it.

I’ve been checking him out for months and liked every single thing I’ve seen.

But here, in Cain’s place, with a whole other proper man to scope out every evening, I realise that it’s not just being grateful that has me feeling butterflies every time I hear his car in the driveway after work. It’s not just wanting some company that has my heart racing every time he grabs me a beer out of the fridge.

Cain’s eyes aren’t kind, not like Brian’s . They’re tough and raw and brutal. His words are blunt but fair. And the way he wears his suit is different to the way Brian wears his. Brian has an almost scholarly look about him, like he’s some kind of boffin professor or something.

Cain looks like he was born to wear it.

I don’t like suits but I like them on Cain.

I like them on Brian, too.

I like the way both of these guys are put together, and in bed at night I think of both of them.

It breaks my heart to think I might not get either, but I’m not done yet.

Brian doesn’t want me and he’s made sure I know it, but Cain…

Cain looks at me. Not just like Nick and Isaac and Raul Elf looked at me. He doesn’t try to sneak a peek every time I’m sitting opposite him in a low cut top. He doesn’t try to check me out in the shower when I leave the bathroom door slightly open – and I do.

Cain looks at me like I’m a proper woman, even if he isn’t about to make a move on me. He looks at me as though he could tear my clothes off and fuck me hard and know what the fuck he was doing, even if he isn’t going to. And I am a proper woman. I’m eighteen and I’m not sorry for the fact that I want to get fucked by a guy who can’t keep his hands off me.

But Cain hasn’t made a single move sadly.

Doesn’t even hint that he wants to.

I wish he would, but he doesn’t.

I’ve almost finished up a fresh section of fencing when the sky turns grey. I worked quickly, because I planned to take pictures of this bit all finished up. I’m panting and sweating by the time the rain starts, and when it starts it starts hard.

I’m soaked through by the time I’ve hammered in the last few nails, skidding through the mud up the bank as I gather up my things and try to get a decent shot of my finished railings. My boots are definitely past it. Their grip is useless as I try to keep my footing, and my arms are too full of tools to keep my balance. I go tumbling, tits first into a sloppy pile of mud, and if I were an indoor kind of girl I’d be pissed, because my clothes are plastered with mud and sheep shit and fuck knows what else.

My open jacket did little to protect my cami and bra, and any other colour than white would have definitely been a better choice for doing this kind of work if I had all that many options to choose from. But I don’t.

I can’t stop laughing as I pull myself up. The rain on my muddy skin feels amazing. Getting so up close and personal with the outdoors sings to my soul, even if I am filthy now. I ditch my jacket in the mud and spin on the spot, not caring that my muddy hair is plastered to my scalp, or the rain is trickling down between my tits, or that I can taste the earth on my tongue.

It’s a moment I want to keep forever, so I dig my mobile out of my pocket and angle it for a selfie. I hardly ever take photos of myself, and it feels weird. I make sure I hold the camera up high so you can see the fencing down below behind me, and I blink the rain from my eyes and give a smile.

And then I see how low my cami is now it’s wet through. I see how you can see the scrappy lace of my old bra and the shape of my nipples poking through the fabric.

I think about Cain and Brian seeing me like this.

I think about Cain wanting me and Brian seeing how wrong he was for turning his back on having what could have been his.

I think about them getting hard when they see how much of a woman I really am under my baggy clothes and messy hair.

So I tug my top down just a bit more. Just enough that the camera shows more than it should. And then I smile a dirty smile and take the photo.

By the time I’ve finished up ditching Cain’s tools back where I found them, it’s later than usual. The lights are on in the kitchen when I kick off my muddy boots by the back door, and the kettle is already on. My heart is pumping as Cain steps in from the hallway, and my cheeks burn up as he does a double take at the state of me.

“What the–” he begins, and marches his way over.

“I’ve been out,” I tell him.

“No shit,” he says. He reaches behind me to grab a couple of mugs from the cupboard.

“I fell,” I tell him and he cocks an eyebrow.

“You look like you’ve been mud bathing.”

I fold my arms across my filthy tits.

“I’ve been working.”

“Working?”

I nod, already feeling self-conscious about the big reveal I’ve been planning for days.