How We Were | ✔️ (Complete)

20. I, Spy

Everything else was left to my imagination. Come to think of it, a lot of the guys at the ranch were shirtless half the time. Sometimes because they got dirty, other times because they were showing off. But I'd never seen Jake without his shirt on.

"He probably has a bunch of ugly tattoos that he regrets," I said.

Either way, I was willing to bet my next paycheck that there was a six-pack involved. Good, old fashioned manual labor did that to a body.

I already knew that his hands were rough. Calloused, but warm with an unexpectedly kind touch. Well, I guess it shouldn't be unexpected, animals adored him, and I've always found that animals were better at sorting out the good people from the bad.

"Not that he's good," I reminded myself.

Abruptly, I wondered if he'd say really dirty things to me like the men did in all the porn that Shana and I had watched "for science"...

And before I knew it, there we were, Jake and Layla, having porn star sex inside my head. 

"Ugh. Get out of my head Jake Waites," I said, mortified.

But of course, he didn't listen.

And so it went, me thinking perverted thoughts about him until finally, finally I arrived at the last hill that crested before the lake.

I saw Peyton and all thoughts of Jake vanished from my head.

***

Peyton was by the lake, standing with his back to me. He wore navy blue shorts and a wrinkled pale blue button down, shirt tails untucked.

That was bad news.

Peyton always tucked his shirts in. He was a creature of habit, he liked to - no, he needed to be put together. It was who he was.  

"What's wrong Peyton?" I murmured to myself.

I parked the cart far enough away for it to remain out of view and watched him, trying to get a better feel for his mood. After a few moments, I decided to sneak up behind him and surprise him. Snap him out of it that way.

Foolish Layla.

Keeping close to the tree line, I tiptoed forward, ducking behind trees and rocks, only to freeze at the sight of her.

She wore a simple sun dress nearly the same color as her hair, which she wore loose around her shoulders. Charlotte stood about five feet from Peyton, face red, gesturing wildly with her hands and she spoke. It was weird. Unnatural even, to see her like that. What I  saw wasn't anger, it was rage. It was uncontrolled, manic, unadulterated rage.

Instinctively, I ducked behind a tree and sat down, my heart racing.  I never would have guessed that she had a temper like that on her. So much for the cold, calculating, criminal-masterminded world-class bitch.

What kind of actress did a person have to be to be able to hide those kinds of emotions? I shivered despite the heat. She really, really creeped me out.   

One thing was as certain as the sun rising in the east though, Charlotte would not respond well to me seeing her like this. At all. More problems with her was the last thing I needed, so I resigned myself to waiting her out. I leaned back against the tree and settled in. I was gnawing on my nails when a thought occurred to me. Surely he didn't confront her about me - did he?

Peyton kept his promises, but he was pretty angry the other night. Feeling vaguely guilty, I scrambled onto my hands and knees, and carefully peered out to watch them.

Charlotte was still screaming. The distance between them and me kept their words private. I couldn't see Peyton's face, but he was standing stock still, his hands in his pockets and his body tense.

Still, I couldn't turn away from the two of them. Half captivated and half disgusted, I watched Charlotte's narrow shoulders crumple as she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders moving up and down.

Was she crying? Charlotte Bishop cried?

Peyton turned his head away from her, looking toward the river. So he didn't see her face, but I did.

It was quick; a blink-and-you-would've-missed-it moment, but I'd caught it.

Her hands had dropped from her face, revealing the familiar blank, cold and lifeless look of her usual expressions. A second later, her brows crumbled over the bridge of her fine nose as she stepped forward, placing herself between Peyton and the river.

She clasped her hands at her chest, her body language supplicant, as if she were begging for forgiveness, as she spoke the words I couldn't hear. 

Then, she reached out and grabbed her brother by the wrists. She pulled his hands out of his pockets and took them in hers.

He didn't resist.

She pressed his hands to her cheeks and there, with her face cradled in his hands, she wept some more. 

Finally, Peyton moved. Opening his arms, he took her in an embrace, tucking her head beneath his chin.

It was just too weird. The whole thing. Something about the two of them at this moment made me feel physically ill.

I turned quietly and returned to the house. 

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