Hey everybody! I know you're all wanting a kiss, but don't rush it! They kind of almost hate each other at this point, a kiss wouldn't be natural! But don't worry, it'll happen! Thanks for reading :)


ALLISON

I sighed, staring outside of the pickup truck passenger window at the blur of greens and mud that I'm assuming are trees. My eyes watched the random houses that popped up out of nowhere, bored and blurred with thought. I wasn't really paying attention to anything... I was too busy wishing, thinking, and wanting. Wishing to have a family that made me breakfast in the morning. Thinking of how much I don't belong here... and wanting. Wanting to go home. Back to my friends. Back to money. Back to Consuela.

I still couldn't believe that my mom was cutting off all of my lines of communication with my favorite person in the world. It's like, she knows that Consuela would help keep me strong and keep me from being completely miserable. But no, Mom, I just am not allowed to be happy, am I? The one woman in the world who comforts me, who loves me, who would do anything for me, is forbidden to speak to me in my most desperate time of need. I'm stuck in a strange, dirty place with even stranger, dirtier people, for who knows how long, and I'm all alone. Completely and totally alone.

Ever since I was small, Consuela was there for me. She knew. She knew that my parents didn't give a fraction of a crap about me and what I do, I was just their little 'angel'. They needed an image of a perfect family, and they needed a beautiful, well-rounded, behaving daughter. It completed the image of perfection, of what everyone wanted. Dad grew up here and he didn't have much. He was obsessed with having every single thing that he never had as a child—and making sure everyone else knew it.

Consuela came to my soccer games, voice recitals, open houses at school. People even asked me if she was my mother. At first, I'd say, "no, that's my nanny!". Now, I just shake my head and think, "I wish she was my mother."

I needed her right now. I really did. I needed somebody. Anybody. I don't just feel alone here and now, I've always felt alone. But now, I do especially.

"Hey."

Chad's voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I jumped slightly but didn't turn to look at him. I didn't want to. I was shut in my own little world, I guess.

"You O.K.?" he asked me quietly. "You're... a little more... quiet than usual."

I could see his point. At this time in the drive to wherever we were going, I would normally be flirting excessively and trying to scheme up a way out of work. But I haven't flashed any extra skin, I haven't said a word, I hadn't batted an eyelash. I was just silent... staring at the mediocre scenery rushing by.

"Oh," I murmured dismissively, "yeah. Sure."

"You don't really sound like it," he said as-a-matter-of-factly. "You don't really sound like anything actually. You're not talking."

"Yeah, there's a reason for that," I stated a little rudely, turning as far away from him as the car seat would allow. I shouldn't be taking this out on him, but I want to be alone. Whenever I think about this, I get in a bad mood.

Chad seemed to ignore my snap at him. "You aren't insulting my state. Or my town. Or me. Or trying to get out of work. Or flirting to get out of work. What's wrong with you?"

"It's personal," I deadpanned, staring dully at a fly that was struggling to climb up the window outside. I hoped that it fell off. Here's a lesson that everyone would do well to go by:

Life sucks, and then you die.

I just hope that fly gets put out of its misery, since I couldn't. I tapped the glass lightly with my nail where the bug was hanging on for dear life, hoping it would be surprised and let go. I wish I could let go, I thought.

"Alright, alright, I gotcha," he said, tone a little taken aback. "Just trying to help. Sorry."

I felt a little bad, but I didn't say anything. That fly wouldn't fall off no matter how much I tried, so I just stared at my nasty, ugly shoes. Ew. Chad went out the other day and bought me some cheap working clothes, much to my disgust. I looked at them and just couldn't believe that people actually wore these by choice. He's lucky that he got me to wear them at all.

"Ya know," he said suddenly out of nowhere, which slightly took me by surprise, "if you don't want to be completely miserable for the next few months, I suggest that you try and be a little less... cut off. We're going to be working almost every day together for the next four months, and it'll make things a lot easier if we can communicate without biting each other's head off, ya know?"

I knew by 'we' he meant me. I didn't blame him, either. But I wasn't about to tell him that he was right... I'm just really not in the mood to see any form of a smirk on his face. I might just slap it right off.

Oh, look, I've only been down here a couple of days and I'm already becoming violent and uncivilized like the locals. Just lovely.

"I don't want to fight with you," he continued, even though the look on my face clearly demanded silence. "I think that we probably have some misconceptions of each other. I think you're a stuck up brat who takes everything for granted with a bitchy attitude—" I gaped at him "—and you think I'm some uneducated hillbilly who doesn't own any shoes or know how to cook anything I didn't run over with my car." It was almost creepy how accurate he was. "But those thoughts are just gonna make life Hell for both of us, ya know? So if we can act civilized and treat each other like human beings, I think that you might not hate it as much as you think you do. And... I might not hate this job as much as I do right now."

I had to admit, as much as I hated it, that Chad had a point. It would be Hell no matter how much we hated or didn't hate each other, but it might be a little cooler version of it if we could get along.

"I'll try to contain myself," I finally mumbled after a long silence. "But I can't make any promises."

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, that's a start."


"So, what gross thing are we doing today? Cleaning out another shed? Killing and gutting some defenseless animal? Lifting a bunch of pointless junk?"

Chad sent me a look, and I quickly realized that I was already breaking my resolution twenty minutes after making it. I sent an apologetic look, and I was going to apologize too, but I couldn't get it to come out.

"Actually, none of that 'gross' stuff," he mimicked my tone. As we got out of the truck, Chad walked ahead of me towards the building where Uncle John's office was. A barn that actually looked decently pretty was set apart from it to the left. In front of it were set out at least fifteen boats, all bare wood. I already had an idea of what we were doing today. Surprisingly, I usually wouldn't have too many complaints about painting... if it wasn't for the fact that it felt like 200 degrees outside! I was working up a sweat just standing here.

Chad came walking out with countless pails of paint stacked in his arms. He placed them all out in a row in front of me, dumping handfuls of brushes by my feet. I stared at them on the ground, then looked up at him quizzically. He rose his eyebrows indifferently.

"Don't tell me I have to explain to you what to do," he said, his tone exasperated and a little demeaning. I glared at him.

"No!" I exclaimed resentfully. "I know what to do! I'm not that deprived; I know how to paint!"

Any fool could paint—the trick for me was getting the lid off of the paint can and stirring it, considering the closest thing I'd done to painting was finger painting and watercolor in kindergarten. After at least five minutes of struggling to pry off the lid, Chad did it for me, his face a little too smug for my taste.

He began trying to explain to me step-by-step how to paint a boat, but I quickly dismissed him with a comment that doesn't fare for repeating. So much for the truce.

I picked up my paint brush and began to paint as best as I could under this oppressive heat. Chad stood there for a while, leaning against the side of the barn... just watching me. Pointing out the second I messed up on anything at all. I bit my tongue so hard a couple of times that I'm pretty sure I tasted blood on more than one occasion. But finally, after what felt like forever, he stepped away from his perch and picked up a paint brush as well, beginning to paint the boat to the right of me. I peaked at him out of the corner of my eye, amazed at his speed and how much wood he covered in so little time. He'd managed to paint in five minutes what it took me at least fifteen to do. My blood boiled with envy; I didn't like being beat like that. I didn't like losing.

I started to speed up, doing my best not to do a crappy job, yet not be as particular as I had previously been. I caught him glancing over at me, noticing my attempt to match his pace, and then he sped up even more! But as his speed increased, it didn't look rushed or clumsy at all. He was covering the wood just as well as he would if he were hardly moving the brush. My arms ached as I did my best not to be out-shined.

It wasn't long before my arms were killing me, every muscle and every joint seizing and tightening. I tried switching arms, but that only worked for a few seconds before I began to cramp in that arm too. I looked over at Chad again, but he wasn't looking at me. He was painting at the speed of lightening, the white liquid spreading evenly and precisely in every direction. His focus was totally on his work and nothing else, beads of sweat dripping off the end of his nose. I'm pretty sure he didn't notice, though.

At that point, I gave up. I had to take a break. I wasn't built for this. I'd never done this before. The only muscle strength I had in my arms was from carrying shopping bags for long distances, but that didn't compare to hours on end of painting.

My back hurt from bending over. My wrists hurt from turning the brush. My arms hurt from moving every direction imaginable over and over again. My armpits hurt from having my arm lifted so long. And I didn't even want to think about how sore I was going to be tomorrow. I wouldn't be able to dress myself!

I sat on the ground and leaned back against the barn, paint brush in hand and dripping onto the ground. My face felt hot and red; I could feel so much perspiration on my face that it felt like someone put itchy goo all over my pores. I weakly wiped at my forehead with the back of my arm, feeling my wet hair hanging pitifully across my face. I'd never felt so ugly... or so helpless. I didn't feel independent at all.

Chad leaned back to inspect his work, but he didn't sigh in tiredness or sit down for a break. All he did was murmur, "Gosh, it's hot," and proceed to wipe at his face and completely take off his shirt.

I can't lie. I enjoyed the view.

I really enjoyed the view.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want it to come off as if I have any kind of inkling of a crush on this backwoods boy. Trust me, I don't. He's just not bad to look at. It's like a really cute shirt you see a girl wearing who is walking down the street, or a really cute pair of heels a friend of yours just bought. Just because you think they look amazing doesn't mean you want to sucker punch them and steal them right off of your friend's feet, right? You just... enjoy the view.

The sun reflected off of his toned shoulder blades and back as his arm moved back and forth. He looked like one of those overly-oiled guys in cologne commercials. Not that I was complaining!

But suddenly, he stopped, stood upright, and spun around to look at me. The front view was just as lovely, if not more. He had an eight pack. I knew he would probably catch me staring, but at the moment, I was too tired to care.

"So, really?" he asked me, eyebrows raised. I wiped at my face again and gave him a look that mimicked his own. "Are you gonna work or are you just gonna sit there and stare at me?"

I was thankful that my face was so red already that a blush wouldn't show. "I was just gonna sit here and stare at you," I answered honestly, shrugging my shoulders. I felt my t-shirt sticking to my skin as if someone had soaked me with a hose.

My answer seemed to throw him off. I think he was expecting me to deny it and he had an argument prepared. To my surprise, I think he might have been blushing a little. But I couldn't be sure. His face was pretty red, too. He seemed to struggle with words for a second, which was unlike him. It was a little funny.

"Well..." he seemed a little flustered, "I—you should really get back to work."

"But...!" I whined. "It's so hot! And we've been out here for hours without any water! I can't take much more of this!"

He gave me an exasperated look, whose demeaning effect was lost without his shirt on. Now it just looked like he was posing for a camera. "You do know we've only been out here for about twenty minutes, right?"

My eyes widened in disbelief and pain. "No! You've got to be kidding me! We've been out here for at least an hour!"

He shook his head. "I have to paint something for your uncle at least once a week. I've learned how to time myself." He pointed up to the sky, then drew a line in the air with his finger down to a shadow on the ground. "If it had been an hour, I'd be able to tell. But these shadows haven't moved an inch. There's no way we've been out here an hour."

"Shadows don't move that much in an hour!" I defended my point.

"They don't," he nodded. "But they do enough to where I can tell. And it hasn't been an hour."

I stuck my lip out in defeat. "Well, can I please at least go inside and get some cold water or something? Or go jump in a bathtub full of ice?"

"I'll soak you with the water hose if you want me to," he grinned, but there was an underlying meaning. I glanced down at my oversized white t-shirt and the thinness of it. I looked back up at him with my eyes narrowed.

"You wish," I seethed, standing up and heading towards the cabin that housed my uncle's office. "Pervert."

"Hey," he said innocently, raising his hands in the air like he was surrendering, "I wasn't the one staring at someone shirtless and sweaty. Just sayin'."

I glared at him, whipping my wet hair as I turned away from him, stomping towards the air-conditioned building. It was time for a break. He was too much of a work-junkie.

As soon as I opened the door, my eyes zoned in on a small mini-fridge. I ran over to it and yanked open the door, finding a holy grail of ice-cold water bottles. I grabbed two of them, viciously twisting off the top to one and chugging it as fast as I could, savoring the almost-pain of the sudden icy cold going down my hot and dry throat. I'm sure any decent person would go outside and give the other to Chad, but you see... I'm not a decent person.

I ran outside, ripped off the top, and completely soaked myself. I tipped it upside down, holding my head back and dumping it on my face, loving the way it rolled down my neck and soaked through my clothes.

I had to laugh when I caught Chad staring.

Who's the perv now?