Fall With Me (Sugarland Creek, #3) (13)

He shrugs unapologetically as if he doesn’t believe me. “Not from my view. Your left shoulder drops on the second barrel.”

“It’s my weaker one,” I admit. “I dislocated it when I fell hard off Ranger about six months ago. Bruised up like a peach.”

“Did you do physical therapy for it?”

“A few times, but it doesn’t hurt. It just pops back out sometimes.”

He furrows his brows, and I know I’m about to get another lecture from him.

“Get down and come here,” he demands, and I hate how his deep, raspy voice puts me in a trance to follow his orders without a second thought.

Another reason to loathe him.

I tie Ranger’s reins to one of the posts and walk toward him.

The training center is massive, which gives us plenty of room for drills and practice, but as soon as I stand in front of him, the space closes in on us.

“Can I touch your arm?” he asks.

I sigh. “If you must.”

He smirks, then motions for me to spin around. As soon as I do, he grabs my elbow and stretches out my arm. “Does that hurt?” he asks while digging his fingers into my shoulder blade.

“No more than usual when the son of Satan is near me.”

He chuckles, then hovers above my ear. “Ooh, baby, careful with that dirty talk. My heart just did that little flutter thing.”

“Sounds like you have a murmur. Might wanna get that checked out before you collapse to your death.”

“Wouldn’t you like that, huh? Doubt they’d find anything, though. It only acts up when I’m ’round you.”

I snort but not in a ha-ha kind of way. More in disbelief that he’s not getting the hint that I cannot stand him. “Does that pick-up line usually work?”

He’s silent for a few beats before finally exhaling a long breath. “It wasn’t a line, Little Devil.”

That’s the second time this week he’s called me that, and I haven’t dared to ask him why. I probably didn’t help my case by calling him the son of Satan, but I was being serious. He calls me Little Devil like it’s a cute pet name.

He raises my arm and then shifts it back and forth. “You should start doing daily stretches to help with this clicking. You need to strengthen it so you’re not tempted to lower it.”

“Noah already has me joggin’ three miles every day. I’m sure it’ll get stronger in time.”

“I’ll get you a shoulder brace to wear during practice runs and print out some exercises for you to do at home. The more you work on it now, the better it’ll be for when you race.”

Instead of arguing, I stay quiet. His offer is quite sweet, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I admit that out loud. He’s only doing his job and as long as it helps me in the long run, I won’t fight him on it.

He continues feeling around my back and arm, but the longer he stays silent, the more I forget how much I hate him.

“Are you almost done?” I finally ask.

He releases me, but then gives it a little squeeze. “Most women don’t complain about me touchin’ them. In fact”—he leans down until his breath whispers along my neck—“they beg me not to stop.”

Turning around, I’m faced with his cocky smirk. “And I suspect those women regret pickin’ convenience over personality.”

He tries to hide his reaction by scrubbing a hand along his scruffy jawline as if he’s contemplating how to handle me.

Good. The sooner he realizes I’m not here to entertain his ego, the better for both of us.

He licks his lips. “If you keep being mean to me, I’m gonna end up fallin’ in love with you.”

I wrinkle my nose at the unexpected comment. “Is that what you’re into? Women degrading you?”

“So far, only when it comes from you. I’m startin’ to think you feel it, too.”

My nostrils flare at the unwanted flirting. He’s fucking delusional.

“You’re insufferable and the only thing I’ll ever feel for you is hatred. If you think that’s me flirtin’ with you, you need to get your head checked. Maybe you have a leak. Would explain the lack of oxygen gettin’ in there.”

He smacks a hand over his heart. “Careful. The more you say you don’t like me, the harder I’m gonna fall.” His lips curve into the cockiest smirk I’ve ever seen. “Wanna fall with me?”

Crossing my arms, I match his grin. “I’d rather fall out of a plane without a parachute.”

“I see you two are still gettin’ along nicely…” Noah singsongs as she makes her way over toward us. “Am I too late? Has the first punch been thrown?”

“She’s the one using me as a verbal punchin’ bag,” Landen says, shifting his gaze from Noah to me. “But nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“Great!” Noah smiles, her eyes beaming. “Then you won’t mind me cuttin’ in for the last ten minutes of practice and seeing how y’all did?”

“By all means.” Landen waves out his hand, a knowing expression on his face. “Go ahead, Little Devil.”

I wrinkle my nose at the annoying nickname but don’t want to argue in front of Noah. My respect for her trumps my anger for her brother, so without a word, I grab Ranger and settle into the saddle.