[WATTYS 2016 WINNER!] [COSMOPOLITAN Featured!]
Trapped in her white trash hell, Layla Danner is failing at life.
Her friend Peyton? Everybody thinks he's perfect, a staggeringly rich, handsome, and well-mannered story book prince. But they don't kn...
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At 4:30 the next day, I closed the gates to the pigsty and made my way to the lockers. If I hurried, I'd be able to take a quick shower before Peyton came to pick me up. I definitely needed one.
A sharp whistle pierced the stifling summer air. But people whistled here for all kinds of reasons. No time to worry about things that didn't concern me.
"Hey!"
Squinting across the yard, I spotted Miguel Rodriguez standing beside the Ranch's black F-350, rigged up with a horse trailer. I looked over my shoulder to see who he was addressing - it wouldn't be me since he'd never spoken so much as a single word to me before.
"I'm talking you, Blondie," he yelled.
Miguel, a well-built guy in his late twenties, was a shift manager. He was brash, harsh, demanding, and frankly, more than a little bit intimidating with his perma-frown and rough demeanor.
Keeping my feet firmly planted to the ground, I raised an eyebrow at him while I finished peeling off my gloves.
"Enough with the attitude. Get over here."
"What do you want?" I yelled across the space between us.
In Spanish, he muttered a string of curses under his breath and stalked over to me, his gait not unlike that of a charging bull. Swallowing, I stood my ground and resisted the absurd urge to meet him halfway and apologize for sassing him.
He stared down his nose at me like I was utterly beneath him. I tried not to take it personally because that's pretty much how he looked at everyone.
"Time and a half plus travel expenses for a pick up job," he said.
"Huh?"
He spoke with exaggerated slowness, as if he were speaking to an imbecile or, I guess, a dumb blonde. "We're picking up two horses from El Paso, I'm scheduled to go, but I have to get home. Family emergency."
I stared at the Virgin Mary tattooed on his arm. Miguel had full sleeves on both sides, but I'd never realized that they were all religious iconography. And they were quite pretty, actually.
"Hey, eyes up here," he said.
I scowled and looked at his face. "I can't drive a tow. I mean, I've never tried, but I'm pretty sure I wont be able to."
"You'll be riding shotgun."
"Oh," I said, thoroughly confused. "Why me?"
"Because you're walking by at the right moment. Come on, don't waste my time, you want it or not? If you don't, I have to look for someone else." He tapped at an imaginary watch on his wrist. "Clock's ticking."
Numbers churned in my head. Eight hours round trip at time and half plus travel. I could actually take Peyton somewhere really nice for his birthday. And if they were buying horses, Daniel Harris would be going and I wouldn't mind spending the time with him.
