Oh my lanta, was it supposed to be that big? How was the girl not choking to death on the dynamite stick resting in her mouth? The way the veins bulged out of his penis made me think that thing could’ve exploded any second, and the girl on her knees had no problem with that outcome happening between her lipstick-coated lips.

I turned to look away, stunned at what I’d walked into. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I shouted, shaking my hands around in a fright.

“Get the fuck out!” Ian barked, his smoky, gruff voice dripping with irritation and pleasure all at once. Who knew you could be annoyed and pleased at the same time? Any man getting a blow job interrupted, I supposed.

“Sorry, sorry!” I repeated, hurrying out of the room. I shut the door quickly behind me and took a deep breath. My hands were shaky, and my heart pounded against my rib cage. That was the last thing I’d expected to happen inside the horse-stables office at one in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Leave it to Ian to give me quite the view that afternoon. A view I wished I could bleach from my mind.

I stood there like a complete moron for a few minutes before I checked my watch.

How hadn’t they finished yet?

Now, I wasn’t a blow job expert, but based on the size, the veins, and the determination of said woman on her knees, Ian should’ve been close to completion.

Still, I didn’t hear that happily-ever-after groan fall from his lips, and the day was passing on.

I knocked on the door.

“Piss off,” Ian’s voice hissed.

Still that charming fella I remembered from high school.

“I would if I could, but I can’t. You’re supposed to be training me today.”

“Come back tomorrow,” he ordered.

“I can’t. Big Paw told me I have to train today with you, no ifs, ands, or buts, and I refuse to lose this job opportunity. I need this.”

“Save the sob story for someone who cares,” he growled, making my anger build more and more.

Who did this guy think he was?

Just because he had found a glimpse of musical success on the internet and had every female—and some males—in Eres wanting his attention, it didn’t mean he had the right to talk to people the way he did. I mean, hell, he was a rock star in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska. It wasn’t as if he were Kurt Cobain or Jimi Hendrix.

I swung the office door open to find the two still in their same positions, and I placed my hands on my hips. “I’m sorry, you’re supposed to be training me, so therefore this situation should probably be put on hold until later.”

Ian looked at me and cocked the highest eyebrow in history, and for the record, I was working very hard to not take notice of the other cocked body part of his on display.

“How about you get a hint and realize he’s busy with me?” the woman sneered, finally pulling herself away from her mouthful.

Good girl. Come up for a breath of fresh air.

“How about you not talk to me?” I snapped back. “It’s my first day,” I repeated, this time through gritted teeth as I stared at Ian. “And you are my trainer, so I expect to be trained.”

His eyes pierced me. “Do you know who I am?”


Did he just use that cliché line?

Do you know who I am?

Again, not Kurt Cobain, buddy.

“Yes, I know who you are. My trainer. So if we could—”

“I’m not training you,” he said. “So you can get lost.”

“Yeah, get lost,” the woman said.

“I’m sorry, is there a desperate echo in here?” I asked, shooting my stare to the woman, then back to Ian. “I’m not leaving until you train me.”

“Well, please enjoy the view,” he commented, placing his hands behind the woman’s head to bring her closer to his member.

“Okay. I’m sure Big Paw will be fine to know what you were busy doing instead of training me,” I threatened.

The woman released a catty chuckle. “As if Ian cares what Big Paw thinks.” She went to lean in, but Ian’s hands lightly moved her back.

“The mood’s dead. We’ll try again later,” he commented.

She looked at him, stunned. “You’re joking, right?”

He shrugged. “Not feeling it right now.”

Those words were also known as I’m scared shitless of my grandfather and don’t want to get on his bad side. Even the town’s rock star had his own set of fears.

“I can make you feel it,” she said, going to lean in, but he stopped her again.

“How about you take a hint and realize that he’s busy with me?” I blurted out, mocking the words the woman had given me, feeling my sass level hitting an all-time high. I wasn’t often a sassy girl—unless someone sassed me first. An eye for an eye and all.

She stood and smoothed out her sundress. As she pushed past me, she gave Ian a seductive smirk. “Call me later, will you?”

“Of course, Rachel.”

Her eyes widened. “My name’s Laura.”

“That’s what I said.” Ian waved in a dismissive way. If he could be any more of a small-town asshole cliché, he’d be Jess from Gilmore Girls. Cocky and arrogant, with a whole lot of sexiness.

I wasn’t attracted to him in any way, shape, or form due to his disgusting personality, but pretending Ian wasn’t sexy was a waste of time. The man oozed sex appeal like black magic. It was as if he had sold his soul to the devil to look that good. Ink-black hair, tattooed body, arms that made it look like he deadlifted cattle during his downtime. And that freaking rock star smirk. You knew the smirk. The one that said, I could probably get you to blow me right here and now if I wanted you to. That same smirk I was sure he’d given to Laura earlier that day. We lived in the countryside, where most people’s wardrobes were plaid shirts and jeans, sundresses, and cowboy boots, but where most people were more or less ordinary looking, Ian looked like a demigod who’d been placed in the wrong damn galaxy.