Loved By Levi

Two

Mylee

I hated going fast. I always had and probably always would. That in itself wasn't enough for me to stand up to my coach and teammates and say no when they encouraged—or rather forced—me to run barrels at every single rodeo in the state and then some. 

I had never been the little girl who loved taking her pony out for a run, his mane whipping my face and my own hair flying behind us like flames. In fact I hated the feeling of a horse's coarse hair smacking my cheeks and I debated chopping my own off at least ten times a day. 

I much preferred hopping on my dad's old horse with a backpack strapped on and wandering aimlessly until I found a shady spot to read while he grazed and played in the water. Peace was what I loved, but according to everyone I was a spunky cowgirl who loved living dangerously just because that came with the territory of having red hair and liking horses. 

Like most of the other casual assumptions people made about me, that was complete bullshit, but I would never be the one to say that. I let them think what they wanted and tried to stuff myself into the mold they created for me. 

Even though queening was on the more relaxed side of the spectrum (at least when it came to physical activity and danger) it still wasn't something I really enjoyed doing. People said I was pretty and my long hair and dimpled smile made me the perfect queen, which was why I did it. The danger involved in queening wasn't physical; very rarely did rodeo royalty have their horses roll over on them because they turned a barrel too sharp. Instead, it was all mental and emotional. The level of cattiness most of those girls could reach was downright amazing. I hated it. 

The Mylee I wanted to be wasn't the dramatic type who loved running the hottest horse as fast as she could. That Mylee could go to hell for all I cared. The one I really was on the inside loved old, gentle animals and peace and imaginary worlds that she could get lost in. I didn't want to be a pre-vet major. I hated science and dissecting things and having to memorize the name of every bone in a cow's body just to forget it later on. If I had it my way I would've been majoring in journalism and writing for the college newspaper on a regular basis. 

But of course I wasn't the Mylee I wanted to be. I was the same old actress that I had been my entire life, carrying on the same bullshit routine and being a pushover. 

"Well, how do you feel about walking? Or better yet, eating?" 

I snapped out of my mental rant when the boy in front of me responded to my comment about running. He was grinning, wrapping the wireless earbuds he'd had on earlier around his phone and depositing them in his pocket. 

"Of course I'm all sweaty and gross, so you can say no if you want. But I'd really like to take you out to eat somewhere." 

Again, I felt myself being drawn in by those stunning blue eyes that seemed to hold the answers to everything in the world. They were ethereal. 

"I don't care if you're sweaty, I'm soaking wet and covered in sand."

I felt those gorgeous eyes travel down my body in a way that was more observant than predatory. He seemed to just be taking in the mess that I was but not actually judging. "Are you okay? It looks like you took a pretty good tumble."

One of my thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I'm fine, just fell off the dock."

My face warmed when he released a rich, genuine laugh. "So you're one of those clumsy girls that spends more time on her butt than her feet?" 

"I guess you could say that," I shrugged again, allowing my face to contort in just enough of a smile to show a dimple. 

"Well, what do you say? Want to get some food? I'm Levi, by the way."

I grasped the hand the held out in my direction with my clammy one, a little shocked by its warmth. "I'm Mylee." 

It had been tempting to lie and give him a fake name, but I decided he seemed too genuine to play games with. "Did you drive here?" 

He shook his head, more water flying into my face from his curls. "Nah, I don't live too far away."

"Oh. Do you want to stop by your place to change or just take my car straight there? How far are we going, anyway?" 

"So that's a yes? If you don't mind the sweat we can just take your car. I don't want you to have to walk."

I felt my eyebrows furrow. "I bet I can handle it. How far?"

Levi's face flushed red. "About five miles." 

"Okay, we'll take my car," I replied simply, starting across the parking lot again. 

Five miles? The boy had run five miles to the beach and then at least one more on the sand even though he hated running? That didn't make any sense. Obviously I wasn't the only crazy person on this beach.