Stupid. Sexy. Asshole...

Chapter 1: A Warm Welcome

Author blah: Enjoy the first story, COMMENT if you like it dislike, don't eat pickled toes!!

Chapter 1:

Golden light bathed the small house in vibrant hues. A small field encompassed the wooden structure, it too coloured by sweet flaxen heads of wheat, swaying in the summer wind. My eyes roamed the length of the field, travelling to the azure horizon beyond with an insincere tranquil calm. Slouching slightly as I sat down on the bed of wheat, I pretended I was having the time of my life, loving the smell of fresh manure and sun baked soil, wafting around me in gusty swirls. That I absolutely loved how the sun beat down upon me with diabolical force, spreading sheets of sweat across my forehead and letting collected droplets roll over each other at the back of my neck.

A small sigh eloped from my parted lips as I tried to smile and make believe that Grandma wasn’t watching me from the porch, or that the seven or so ranch hands weren’t sniggering together in a cosy little group. Jackasses. So what if I’m a city girl and haven’t set foot in good old country soil in over ten years? I’m still good enough to help around this antique family ranch, besides it’s supposed to run in the blood right, to love all of this?

From my peripheries I watched Grandma waddle over to a large brass bell, a small tattered rope sprouting from inside it. Ding, ding, ding. The bell rang three times, its deep chimes echoed loudly across the fields, swooping over to the sheep station, barn yard, cow shed, the stables and the pig pens. Time for dinner, meaning lovely greasy food, and hey, I’m not complaining.

Scrambling to my feet, I tried to look nonchalant like I wasn’t looking forward to getting out the sun and into the cool inside. I dusted off my shorts slowly, as if I hadn’t a care in the world and leisurely strolled into the airy interior of the ranch house.

Seven pairs of feet padded after me, quickly over taking me, in a rush to see who would get to the table first. My Grandma you see, treated the volunteer ranch hands who came over to her ranch every summer, as long lost family, while I, the actual blood relative was treated like the cow dung that was produced in the cow shed. Wonderful isn’t it?

Pretending to love everything about the country isn’t all that easy as I supposed it to be, when really all I love about it is reading about it in some lovely novel. Too bad I can’t actually curl up and have the time to read now, since I’m too busy helping out, trying to prove myself to the ranch hands and Grandma.

It’s at times like these that you wish that your mum and dad are a perfectly happy married couple, who don’t have to send their only daughter away for the summer to sort out ‘stuff’, (as my dad had so elaborately explained). But I guess one can only wish, right?

Slipping off my large wide brimmed hat, I hung it on a nearby hook, there are basically hooks everywhere, as Grandma says: “Ya always need a hook to put yer hat on. Ya city folks wun’t understan’. ”

Sighing, I trudged into the dining room. Nearly everything was wooden, from the paneled floors and walls to the oak dining table and chairs, which were all hand crafted by my Grandpa. My heart sunk lower as I remembered Grandpa’s toothy grin and kind brown eyes. I miss him.

I felt my feet leading me to the one of the chairs, while my hands pulled it out and my butt plonked itself onto the hard wooden chair. Every other chair was occupied except one empty chair which was unfortunately right beside me. Ugh, He’s not here yet.

As soon as that thought fluttered through my head, the devil himself walked in. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off his toned, tan forearms. The white t-shirt underneath his open plaid shirt was thin, easily showing off absurdly, amazing abs. My eyes involuntarily travelled to his face. Dammnit Rayne, didn't anyone tell you not to look the devil in the eye?

Too late. My thoughts slowly collided into a messy puddle as I gazed spell bound at two electrically charged cobalt blue eyes. Promptly my heart beats began to pound louder and quicker, my breathing becoming slightly, embarrassingly, shallow. A lock of soft black hair fell across his eyes which he quickly placed back with one fluid motion of his hands. Goddamn he's gorgeous. 

I was still staring like an idiot as a small smirk twitched at his soft lips, becoming larger by the second as he watched me amused. His footsteps were loud in the quiet of the room, like everyone was holding their breaths. Both feet came to a stop before me then he proceeded to close some distance as he bent down, his warm breath fluttering gently across my neck.

“Maybe you should take a picture, it’ll last longer city bitch.” Shivers swept through the length of my body at the sound of his deep husky voice. Rather suddenly my brain began work again, his words sending  heat rushing to my cheeks then out my ears.

I turned my face to glare at him, well trying to glare. His smirk broadened, instantly flicking on my brain, yep, no thanks.

“You’re right I might take a picture, then I can frame it with my toilet seat. Jerk.” Sneering, my words were hissed through half-clenched teeth, to which he feigned hurt.

“Ouch. You don’t really mean that do you?” He clucked his tongue before lightly blowing against my neck, prior to pressing his lips against the soft skin just below my ear. I bit back a breathy moan, but it seemed I was quite unsuccessful at doing so as the room was instantly filled with raucous laughter. He pulled back, flashing me a malicious smirk before walking to sit beside me.

I groaned internally as my cheeks flamed in indignation. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, then let it out and opened my eyes again, swiftly assessing my pathetic situation. I am stuck in the middle of nowhere with seven amazingly hot sexist guys, the King-of-Assholes and my evil Grammy, for the whole summer. Why, God, why?!