1. Rowen

"This is such bullshit. Wait for me, Rowen. Is this for me, Rowen?" I remember those hushed words like it was yesterday. I know he was worried about Bridger and the fact that I was going off to college. Which, let's be honest, the college I went to was three hours away. It wasn't like we couldn't have made it work for three years, but because he was being an asshat, I walked away without even saying goodbye to him.

Bridger, my brother, he knew what was going on between Braxton and me the entire time. He somehow bit his tongue, not saying anything about the anger seething through my veins at the last party we had. It wasn't the one where Brax had me moaning his name and writhing in pleasure. Oh no, at the last one, he kept his distance. I didn't even bother making my way to him after I saw the way he sequestered himself by the picnic table. Braxton was wearing a pair of well-worn denim jeans, a black T-shirt, his hair a ruffled mess, his beard way more than a five-o'clock shadow usually held. It took everything I had not to approach him. His shoulders were slumped, and the one time we made eye contact, I saw the dark circles under those deep soulful, emerald-green eyes. He shook his head when I took a step forward. That's what solidified my decision to spin on my heels and hang out with my sisters, Aspen and Peyton.

I stayed at college through each summer to get ahead, only coming home for the holidays, which sucked, but my brother and sisters would come and visit once a month like clockwork. If I ever went back to Lodgeview, I know I'd never want to leave, and there was no way I wasn't going to finish my college education. Which leads me to now. Braxton Martinez has been avoiding me since I've been back home, permanently this time, and today I'm over it. It's time I take action, even if that means confronting him with the excuse that my car is making a rattling noise that you can only hear going down the road at eighty miles per hour. Which it's not. I mean, it does make this vibrating noise that I can't remember it ever making before.

The look on his face when he sees I've driven that fast will have Braxton losing his damn mind. I may or may not have driven that fast, but if it gives me an in, then that's what I'll be doing.

I pull my car up to Braxton's shop. It was once old man Red's. Braxton bought it from him, did a few renovations on the outside. For the most part, the real showstopper is in the garage bays. He completely updated everything he possibly could. I remember hearing Drake and Leo talking about the loan he took out, refusing help from either of them. Something about that second child who was more stubborn than either of them. I rolled my eyes. Every man who surrounds our group is one hundred percent stubborn and an alpha male to boot, my father included.

Braxton is leaning over a car. He's in his coveralls, boots, and his head doesn't even pop to look when I get out of my vehicle, slamming the door to try and garner his attention. Even that doesn't work though. I do the next best thing, I walk towards the radio he has blaring on his toolbox, bypassing him, which isn't an easy task, especially because I'm ready to give him a piece of my mind. Not to mention, I can see just how firm his backside is even through the coveralls he's wearing. The thought alone causes me to lick my lips, but I have something to do first before I drool all over myself.

The country music makes me smile. Braxton always does the least of what I expect. His music choice is much the same. Honestly, I figured he'd have classic rock blaring through the speakers, but it's not.

"What the fuck," Braxton grumbles the minute the music comes to a stop. I'm leaning against his massive toolbox, knowing it weighs more than Braxton and me together. It has no issue withstanding the way my back is pushed against it. My arms are crossed over my chest and my ankles are crossed as well. My eyebrow is raised, and a small smile is playing on my lips. I'm ready for battle. He's holding a wrench in his hand, oil and grease smeared on his forearms. There's even a smudge on his forehead, but really, it's the soft look he gives me once he realizes I'm the culprit who stopped him in his tracks.

"Hi, Braxton, how have you been? You know, since you somehow have managed to duck out of everything that included me in the past three weeks I've been home?" I question.

"That's what you're coming at me with? The same could be said for you. It's taken you three weeks to get your cute ass to me too." It seems Braxton is in a playful mood today. What a complete turnaround from the last interaction we had.

"Hi, Rowen, how are you?" I blow out a puff of air, letting him know he's annoying me. I mean, he couldn't even say hello. "Are words too good for you now?"

"Rowen," he whisper growls, the word slipping from his lips, causing my thighs to clench. It's the same way he said my name all those years ago, and my body is a slave to his, like his own personal harlot.

"Oh no, you don't get to come at me with that," I manage to say even though my body wants nothing more than to be plastered against his.

"Office. Now," he demands. This is another side of Braxton I haven't witnessed. My traitorous body does what he orders, but not before making sure he can see the swish in my skirt that even I know accentuates my legs, especially in the wedge sandals I'm wearing.