King's Country (Oil Kings #4) - Marie Johnston Page 0,21

or Bristol thinking she owed me for helping her out.

Uncertainty lit her bright eyes. I never wanted to see them full of shadows again. I wasn’t kissing her, and thanks to the way she’d been raised, I’d bet half my ranch that she thought it was because something was wrong with her.

Before I could think of a suave way to tell her that I wanted her more than anything, but I wanted to take it slow so she knew I was serious, she pushed back. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes didn’t flash with desire. She was angry.

“Don’t tickle me.”

“Not until you give me permission,” I agreed.

Anger fled from her eyes and she huffed. “You think highly of yourself, King.”

“It’s called confidence. You’ll ask me to do it a lot.” I rolled up and captured her chin with my thumb and fingers, unable to stop from stroking her skin. “Don’t doubt that I want to do more than tickle you, but I have to prove I’m not like the guys you dated before. And I’m not like fucking Marshall whatever his last name is.”

As if on cue, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. “Moe.”

“What?”

“Marshall’s last name is Moe. He’s a lawyer.”

“He’s a douche.” Her lips twitched, but I pressed. “Seriously. Whether you decide to give me a chance or not, you deserve better.”

If I expected a thankful smile and her gratitude, I should’ve known better. “What the hell, Dawson? Care to impart more worldly wisdom on poor ol’ me?” She snatched her phone up and looked directly at me when she answered. “Yeah?”

Hurt slammed into me. I wanted to do the right thing. I wanted to treat her like she’d never been treated before—and she answered that asshole’s call?

I rose and stormed into the kitchen as her tone softened and turned defensive. Fucking Marshall. Instead of weaving together the first threads of a relationship, I’d pushed her right to him.

Chapter 4

Bristol

Dawson hadn’t done more than update me on my ranch for the last week. And I’d spent my time in his room, syphoning free Wi-Fi and streaming shows. One more week and I’d get this cast off. Then I could go home.

Bile rose in my throat as I thought about home and what it’d be like to sleep in the RV for another month or two while my leg finished healing. I didn’t mind the RV. It was small, but clean.

The trailer was so far from clean it should be in another zip code.

My stomach heaved as I thought about walking into that place again. As Pop had deteriorated, so had his living conditions until he’d quit taking the garbage out, washing dishes, or cleaning up after himself. One sink plugged and he quit using it. The washing machine broke? Then he didn’t need clean clothing.

I’d done what I could. Snuck garbage out when he was passed out and couldn’t yell at me to quit picking up after him like he was a child. Researched how to unclog sinks and fix washing machines. I’d kept a lot of appliances in the trailer limping along and I’d been militant about keeping the bathroom clean and clog-free, even if it meant wiping up another human’s excrement.

I shuddered.

The mess had been hard to deal with. The smell lingered in my memories. A simple thought conjured human funk in my nasal passages. After I used the bathroom or showered, the stench lingered the rest of the day. I washed my clothing in town when I could gather enough quarters for a load or two.

So yeah. I’d be going back to that. After living in grandeur, I’d go back to the sewer I came from.

You deserve better.

It should be refreshing that someone else in this town thought so, but it was humiliating. Treating me with kid gloves, like he knew better than me. Both of us had been stuck in this little town and wallowed in the same dating pool. Life was different with money.

He could afford “better.” He was given more because his last name was King. It was hard to get “better” without a damn cent and Cartwright for a last name.

My phone rang. Marshall. Again. Answering had bolstered him. He called more than he had before. And I ignored him just as much as I had before.

He’d been so apologetic, telling me he had no idea I’d been hurt when he’d been messaging or he would’ve rushed right over.

He was a lawyer. My mind stuck on that. He had his own