CHAPTER SEVEN
RILEY
FOUR WEEKS LATER
Texas in the middle of June is hot as f**k. I rip off my shirt and chug half my water before putting my gloves back on and stacking more hay on the trailer. The main barn needs to be restocked, and that b***h work was assigned to Diesel and me today.
“Cheer up, buttercup! I know what’ll make ya smile.” He holds up a finger, and I roll my eyes.
Ignoring him, I keep working and tossing bales. Then his phone starts playing music.
“Meghan Trainor always makes me happy.” Diesel flashes a s**t-eating grin as “All About That Bass” blasts from his iPhone.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter and grunt, shaking my head at him when he starts moving his ass to that ancient song. Ever since I was served annulment papers two weeks ago, he’s been more obnoxious than usual
