Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) (10 page)

“No,” I confirm.

His hand leaves Indy’s forelock to brush the hair from my shoulder. “I think you might like it in the right context,” he tosses out, his voice turning gravelly. My head snaps back because I don’t think we’re talking about horses anymore. Before I can ask what he means, he changes direction. “How is it that a young girl like you finds herself in that situation? Not taking orders from anyone?” His hand moves from my shoulder to my cheek and cups it, his fingertips press against the back of my neck. I suck in a surprised breath just as he removes his hand. “Driving herself across the country all on her own? Handling horses like she’s been doing it for twenty years rather than just a handful?”

My eyes make contact with Indy’s as if to ask her if this guy is for real. She’s no help as she just blinks at me. I see him mirrored in her eyes, and I imagine the intense stare he’s leveling at me—the one I’m too chicken to return. “I, uh, grew up on a ranch,” I stammer, as I busy myself with putting her bridle back on.

“A lot of people grow up on ranches. They don’t act like they
run
a ranch when they’re only eighteen.”

I give a jaded laugh and, having had enough of his meddling, finally turn to him to snap, “Well, I
am
almost nineteen, and age ain’t nothing but a number.” I snort. “I know plenty of so-called adults who act more like twelve year olds caught up in the latest Facebook drama.”

He laughs lightly and brings his hand up, grazing my cheekbone with his thumb. “I like you, Denver Dempsey.” And with that simple declaration, he turns on his heel, leaving me staring after him like a dumbstruck fool.

“
Y
OU ‘BOUT DONE
in there?” Greer calls from outside Indy’s stall.

I peek over her and see his straw ivory cowboy hat. “Yep. You all set?”

“Yeah, uh …” Ducking under Indy’s neck, I pop up next to the stall gate when he pauses in his answer. His expression is wrought with nerves.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, as I reach a hand out to soothe the puckered skin between his eyebrows.

He immediately relaxes and grins at me. “Everything’s perfect now.”

I flick his hat down a bit and wink at him as I turn back to finish rubbing down Indy.

“Denver,” he calls out, as I look over my shoulder at him.

“Yeah?”

“I’d like to take you on a date tonight.”

He wears his nerves on his sleeve, but hope gleams bright in his eyes. Could it be that simple after everything that has happened? Can we just go on a date like normal college freshman do? One where your hopes and worries are no more than
I hope he holds my hand
, or
how do I eat pizza without getting sauce on my shirt?

He folds his arms on the wooden slat to peer at me with a half-smile. “Don’t over-think it. No pressure, no past, no future. Just tonight.”

I feel myself nodding because that actually sounds amazing. “Yes, I’d love to,” I answer with a small smile.

Chapter Eight

A
FTER
I
GREET
a breathless Maggie fresh from the shower, I jump in under the spray, and we babble (as in Maggie) and grumble (as in me) about our respective dates. I’m not worried about it or even nervous. I just don’t expect much.

Maggie, on the other hand, just about barreled over me telling me about Pete asking her out right before she and Stephanie pulled out from the barn. They are going on a double date with Stephanie and another bull rider named Gage.

“You sure you don’t want to make it a triple and tag along with us?”

“No, but thank you. I don’t want to ruin Greer’s plans,” I explain, as I put my make-up on. I am really looking forward to seeing what he has planned too. I’ve never been on a bonafide date. All my previous ones had been ruses to keep up my shady arrangement with Greer, and I’ve seen him in action enough to know that he is a romantic. Will he put that kind of careful detail into our night even though it’s just me? Pulling my hair into a low, side ponytail, I slip on my tight black jeans. When I walk into the room, I’m greeted by a cotton candy confection version of Maggie.

“You look great,” I tell her. And she does. On anyone else, her shades-of-pink outfit would look ridiculous, but it fits her. “Pete’s not gonna know what do to with himself.”

“Oh, you think?” she gushes excitedly.

“Definitely. I reach into the closet and pull out my turquoise boots with black angel’s wings emblazoned on them. The outline is filled with tiny black sequins that shimmer in the right light. I snag a black button-up to go with it.

Spinning around, I set about pulling my boots on and tucking in my pant leg as Maggie walks back, admiring my boots.

“Girl, those boots are gorgeous,” she squeals, but then frowns as she looks at my shirt. “Nuh, uh. You’re not wearing all black. You’ll look like you’re in mourning. Dates are happy things, Denver.”

“Really, this is fine. I’m not into a ton of color.” It’s true, and now that I think about it, my wardrobe consists mainly of black, red, and white. I infuse color with one of my many sets of boots from time to time. She just keeps digging in her closet, ignoring me. “Seriously, I’m good.”

My protests die out quickly, though, when she spins around with a turquoise cowgirl shirt with black stitching and black snaps. With a knowing grin, she edges closer to me, and I see the ropers embroidered with black threading on each of the shoulders. “Oh,” I whisper.

“Yeah, oh. Greer will have a fit.”

Yes, he will.

A few minutes after Maggie leaves, I slide my ID, some money, and my phone into my pocket and head out. When I hit the front stoop, I smirk at Greer’s back as he leans into Pete’s truck. I’m glad Maggie let me borrow this shirt. If not, Greer and I would have looked like twins. I’ll let him be the Man in Black tonight.

He taps the top of the truck as they pull off and turns to me. I really do love him in black. His golden-blond hair and skin stand out against it, making him really earn the nickname I gave him. As he gets closer, I realize the color makes his blue eyes appear brighter too.

“You must be … Denver Dempsey,” he says with a crooked grin.

My forehead wrinkles. “What?” I mutter.

“Yeah, I sure am glad our friends suggested this ‘cause you seem like a girl I could have a lot in common with,” he continues, unabated.

Ah … “Yes, me too. Greer, right? Greer Tanner?” I ask, playing along.

He tips his head. “Yes, ma’am. And you sure do look pretty tonight.” He reaches out and brushes the roper on my right shoulder. “I see you like ropers. Well, this just so happens to be your lucky night,” he boasts. “I happen to be a calf roper.”

“Oh, really?” I snort. “Well, I’ve always thought they were a little too cocky for doing something as easy as bringing down a defenseless baby cow. I hope you have more than that going for yourself.”

Greer’s grin turns into a loud laugh that seems to echo off the buildings. “Hmm, you’re a feisty one. I like that. I’d also like to show you how much more there is to me. I’m quite complicated and multi-layered, I can assure you,” he teases. “You up for that?”

Amused, I look at my wrist like there’s a watch there. “All right, Greer Tanner, your clock’s ticking. You better get this show on the road. And fair warning, I’m not easily impressed.”

“I think our roles are reversed. I suddenly feel like my truck is gonna turn into a pumpkin if I don’t impress you fast enough.”

“Better get moving, cowboy.”

Greer takes us to a local diner that is known for its steak. He acts like he doesn’t know anything about how I take my food or what I like to drink, and as he’s “getting to know me,” asks me all sorts of questions—like my favorite color (red), my favorite food (avocado), my favorite sport (duh, rodeo), my favorite animal (again, duh, horses). Of course, I ask him all these things in return like I don’t know. He surprises me when he says his favorite sport is NASCAR, though. I know he loves it, just not more than rodeo.

“So, how is that a girl like you doesn’t have a boyfriend back home? I can’t believe no one has snatched you up yet.”

I twirl the straw in my drink for a second before sitting back in the seat and leveling him with my gaze. “I had an amazing person who tried to snatch me up, but I’m not good enough for him.”

Greer narrows his eyes at me. He loathes my self-abhorrence. “I find that hard to believe. You are the whole package—talented, determined, smart … beautiful.”

“He’s all that and more. He’s loyal, kind, compassionate … freakin’ gorgeous,” I add with a slanted grin.

“Gorgeous, huh?” He shakes his head. “Hmm, he does sound amazing. But I think you’re his equal in all ways.” He narrows an eye at me. “Maybe even better than him since you see your own ‘faults’ so clearly. I think someone who can criticize themselves and try to better themselves is far wiser than those of us who can’t.”

It never fails to piss me off that he only sees the positive in me. He ignores the open, festering wound that is my nature. “So you think I can bounce back from being a slut?”

His wince and indrawn breath don’t surprise me, but his closed fist pounding on the table startles me a whole lot. When the dishes clink and clatter, I’m hurled from the little imaginary world he lulled me into. “I hate it when you call yourself that. You’re no slut,” he snaps.

“You don’t know me, remember? And you sure as hell never see me for me. You have Denver-colored glasses on where I’m concerned.” I reach over and grasp his fist. “But I’ve always loved that about you. You make me better even if it’s only temporary, and only in your eyes.”

I rub his hand for a few quiet moments while he calms himself.

“That’s pretty impressive for a guy you’ve just met,” he finally jokes. “If you’re determined to believe the worst about yourself. Tell me … what is it about you that makes you a slut exactly?”

I try to pull my hand back, but Greer flips his over and laces his fingers through mine, holding tight and running his thumb over my wrist. I study them as I confess, “I used my best friend for years to escape my shitty reality. When he was nothing but good to me, I shut down and lost myself in our moments together, effectively blocking him out from ever experiencing something real with me.”

“You sure he wasn’t a willing accomplice? Maybe escaping his own reality? ‘Cause I can’t imagine anyone having an issue with being used by the likes of you,” he says with naughty grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

“He was willing, but that’s still not fair. He felt things I didn’t, and that hurts when someone doesn’t return your feelings, even if he protests and promises that it doesn’t. That took the edge off my guilt for a while, but the truth of the matter remained—he continually put himself second to me, but he was the only person on this earth who truly loved me. He allowed me to trust, to hope, to dream. And I hurt him—repeatedly. I was so addicted to him and what he offered me I couldn’t see straight.”

A frown mars his features. “You’re not addicted to him anymore?”

“No, I conquered my addiction. I need to get through this world on my own without hurting or using others.”

“So this guy? This guy loved you, and you didn’t love him back? Not even a little?”

I pinch my lips together because, of course, I loved him. Just not the way he loved me. My love came with conditions and ultimatums and trappings. His love was pure and unconditional and free. Mine was twisted and dirty.

“I want to love him,” I whisper, “but I don’t know how to love him the way he deserves.”

He nods and starts to speak, but our server brings our steaks over, and we eat in companionable silence for a while.

“Why do you think you don’t know how to love?” he asks, breaking the silence.

I think for a moment before answering. This is something I’ve been trying to figure out for … forever. I didn’t know if I could put it into words, but for him, I’ll try. “Because real love is a learned behavior, and I’ve never had anyone teach me. My mother’s version of love is that it’s a tool wielded to get you what you want, and once that’s acquired, you set your sights on the next objective, and repeat. If that’s not enough, my dad taught me that when you let love in, it destroys you and spoils everything good about you.”

“Sounds like this guy was teaching you, though,” the always-optimistic golden boy murmurs.

“He was, and then I went and blew it. I took that ugly version of love and corrupted what he offered me.”

Greer sits forward and steeples his hands against his chin. “OK … I know I don’t know you well,” he starts, making me laugh lightly as I recall the game he’s playing. “But here’s my diagnosis. Quit trying to determine that you know what is best for this
amazing
man who’s lucky enough to have whatever you’re able to give him. Quit pushing him away. Just quit all that. Now.” He clears his throat, and I like this take-charge version of Greer so much that I find myself leaning in and struggling to grasp at whatever ridiculous straws he might suggest to get
us
back. He reaches over and runs his fingers through my ponytail. “Instead, allow what he freely gives you to mold your screwed-up concept of love.” He pauses for a second and runs his hands over mine, holding them again. “You came here looking for a fresh start, yes?”