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the-librarby · 11 days ago

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IN THE RING IV

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

Intentions, intentions, intentions.

cw: suggestive content.

.･:★ okay. I’ve had an exhausting few days, if this is choppy. Don’t question it.

Anyway, anticipated patch up scene is here.

Part I Part II Part III

Two days of recuperation didn’t feel like enough, you stood idly outside the venue you for a minute wondering if it was too late to call in sick. A rotation list of excuses filtered through your mind but your legs mindlessly walked you closer until it was too late to walk back. You just had to remind yourself that the situation had been taken care of, and he wouldn’t hurt you again.

But what if someone else gets the same idea?

Naively you believed Simon would be there to step in again, it was the only thing that provided you a sense of safety as you weaved through the crowd towards the bar. James was there once more to offer you a friendly smile, you still felt bitter about his lack of spine but tried to not let it show on your face—at the end of the day you understood why he would choose the house over you.

Simon had been on the roster a lot more lately, much to Mark’s excitement, so the bar was always full in attendance. James chattered away like he usually did, you listened quietly and replied every so often which was out of character. You could tell he wanted to say something but you didn’t give him the chance to, always moving onto the next customer until they filtered off into the crowd.

When the bell rang, he was standing idly as he stacked glasses, “Are you okay?”

You hum inquisitively as you stock the fridge below the bar, “Huh? Yeah, fine,”

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he comments.

You smile tiredly, “Just lots of stuff going on with uni.” Part of you wanted to vent about what happened just so he’d feel guilty, but you refrained.

He drops the subject altogether and you both go about prep work independently, only the sounds of the crowd and the fight filling the space. You pause to watch the end of the match, leaning against the bar top as you normally would. You hadn’t seen as much as you’d usually like but it was exciting nonetheless.

“Seen the way he talks to you,” James notes.

You barely peek over your shoulder at him before turning your attention back to the fight, “Who?”

He nods in the direction of the ring, “Ghost,”

You raise an eyebrow, “Okay?”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “Can see you haven’t taken my advice.”

You purse your lips, fighting the urge to snap at him. His pointed tone grates on your nerves, treating you as if you’re some stupid girl, “He’s been nothing but polite to me,”

The scoff you hear from behind you makes your shoulders tense, “Yeah, for now.”

The urge to leave once service is done tugs at your chest but you stick around for a little while longer. When the back door to the changing rooms slams shut you reach into one of the fridges and pull the cap off a beer bottle. It rests neatly on the bar top just in time for Simon to take a seat.

Without his mask you’re drawn in by the small uptick of his lips, “Thanks darlin’,”

The smile he pulls out of you comes naturally, it’s the happiest you’ve felt all night with just the two around the bar, “No worries, Ghost,”

The way his eyebrow raises goes unnoticed as you drop the discarded cap into the bin, “Ghost?” He questions.

You look at him in confusion, “Yes?” You ask, “Is that not what you’re called?”

His fingers tap against the glass of the bottle, “Thought we were on first names basis,”

A quick scan of the bar shows only a couple of customers hanging out around the entrance ready to leave, Mark and James are nowhere in sight either in back of house or outside you assume.

You lean against the bar top, your elbows adjacent to his own, “Just thought you wouldn’t want to be called that here,”

He shrugs, “Don’t care,”

You tilt your head, “What’s the purpose of having an alias if you don’t care for using it?”

“Don’t care if it’s you,” he clarifies.

The satisfaction that flutters through your system almost feels heady, “Oh, that how it is? Sounds like favouritism,” you accuse.

The bottle thunks down on the bar top, “It is,” he readily agrees, “Use it wisely,”

You prop your arm up to rest your head against your hand, “I’ll think of somethin’ to use it for when I need it.”

A beat passes where the two of you just sit in silence. Simon eventually looks away, his forefinger taps against the bar top in thought before he speaks again, this time much quieter and more sincerely.

“How’re you feelin’?”

You exhale deeply, looking down at your arms on the counter, “Alright,” you murmur, “Not great, but I’ll get through it,”

Simon hums with an understanding nod, “Mark has been informed, he’ll turn him away from here on out,”

You frown, having not really thought about how exactly that man wouldn’t return until now, “You didn’t have to do that for me,”

Simon’s eyebrows furrow, “‘Course I did.”

His tone is matter of fact, like there was no other option but this. It makes warmth spread throughout your chest, your smile is small, but grateful as you bump your elbow against his.

“Thank you, that’s very kind,”

He looks away with a sarcastic roll of his eyes, “S’what I’m known for, said so yourself.”

You can’t help but laugh which makes Simon look over once again, he’s got a matching humoured smile on his face. And for a moment you forget about all that’s happened, between how James is acting, the stress of uni, and that unfortunate incident, it all melts away.

It’s yourself and Simon who’s currently staring pointedly at your lips. You lick them out of self consciousness but watch curiously as his eyes zero in on the movement of your tongue. When he gazes into your eyes this time you can see the intention worn plainly on his face.

“C’mere.” He murmurs.

It’s instinctual when you lean over the bar top to kiss him. You can hear the sound of a bottle sliding across the bar before cold fingers press against your jaw in a holding grip. He’s patient and lets you lead, only taking initiative when you reply with a pleased hum against his mouth.

The only thing that pulls you away is the sound of the back door swinging closed. Heat is already rising to your face at the fact of being caught over something like this at work, but when you see James’ judgemental stare over your shoulder shame floods your core. Simon’s hand has slipped from your jaw and lightly folds over your forearm instead, it’s enveloping warmth the only thing offering you comfort.

James doesn’t say anything, opting to passive aggressively count the till instead behind you. You squeeze your eyes shut and look down at the bar top, it was stupid to do this here, where anyone could see—you were entirely at fault for putting yourself in this situation.

The squeeze around your arm pulls you back into the present, Simon is gazing at you in reassurance when you look up. You force a smile and place your other hand atop of his with a gentle pat.

“I should go,” you whisper.

He looks over your shoulder at James’ back in annoyance but withdraws his hand from yours, “I’ll walk you out.”

That night you toss and turn in your bed, feelings of regret roiling in your gut.

You called in sick the next day, and then the next, and then once more just to push your luck—Mark was not impressed nor convinced by your illness. You physically couldn’t bring yourself to turn up knowing the judgement you’d face from James— not that it’s any of his fucking business — part of you thinks. But you were very sensitive to the feeling of unease being present, you just couldn’t do it right now.

Couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t walk into that venue, couldn’t see James, and couldn’t face Simon.

God. Simon.

You couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss most of all. It’s the one thing that stopped you from searching for a new job altogether. You’d have to see him sometime, as much as you’d like to avoid the whole situation altogether you knew it wasn’t fair. Deep down, between all the rationalising, you entertained the idea of whatever was between you going further. But you just didn’t see anything further with Simon as an actuality.

Eventually you forced yourself to have a shower, turning up the temperature as hot as you could stand until the bathroom fogged up. The brief knocking from the upstairs neighbours makes you look up in annoyance, with a huff you turn on your hairdryer to drown out the noise.

The knocking can still be heard over the dryer which doesn’t fill you with confidence about having a quiet night in. You shake your head and try to ignore it as you finish drying your hair. It’s not until you step out of the bathroom, almost filled to the brim with agitation that you realise the sounds are not coming from your inconsiderate neighbour, but actually within your apartment. When you step into the living room, you can hear the frantic knocking coming from your front door.

The aggressive nature of it gives you pause, reluctantly you look into the peephole as you weren’t expecting anyone. The familiar sight of a black surgical mask makes you unlock the door instantly. When you swing the door open, Simon is leaning his arm against the doorframe, his head resting against his forearm as he twists awkwardly favouring left side—he must have been knocking for awhile because when he sees you he straightens up in shock.

“Simon—”

“Where the fuck have you been?” He drills instantly, yanking his mask down.

You’ve barely registered his question— “You’re bleeding.”

Blood is crusted all down the side of his cheek and chin, his lip already swelled from the split down the side of it. You’ve never seen him so worse for wear after a fight.

“Answer my question,” he demands.

You frown, shaking your head, “I’ve been sick.” It’s weak and you know it, you wrap your arms around yourself self consciously.

Predictably, he doesn’t buy it for a second, “Don’t bullshit me with your convenient excuse sweetheart, won’t work here.”

You sigh and open the door wider for him, he cautiously takes your invite and walks inside. You don’t miss the way he cradles his ribs as he takes in the surroundings of your apartment.

“Sit.” You insist, pointing to the chairs at your small dining table.

He eyes you warily but follows, the strained exhale that punches out of him is worrying, but you don’t comment on it as you make a beeline for the bathroom once more in search of a first aid kit.

When you return you gently place the kit on the table beside him before flicking on the overhead lights. It’s a harsh lighting change from the soft glow of your lamps and takes you a few blinks to adjust but when you do, the sight of Simon makes you grit your teeth in concern.

“You look like shit,” you comment.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Bastard played dirty,”

“Did he or were you not focused?” You ask.

The pointed look he sends you as you walk over makes you purse your lips. He stays staring as you open the first aid kit, his hands—still wrapped in tape you realise— stay resting against his knees.

“You’re favouring your left side,” you note as you reach for the stack of cotton pads, “Ribs giving you pain again?”

Simon breathes out through his nose, stretching at a certain point to avoid the pain that spikes up his side, “Aggravated old injury.” is his explanation.

You nod in understanding as you dampen the pad in saline. With saturated pad in hand you turn to face him and tilt your head to the side in gesture, “Show me,”

He eyes the pad warily as he tilts his head, exposing the bloodied side, “What is that?”

You balance his chin between your thumb and forefinger and grip his face gently for handle, “Saline, it’ll get rid of the dirt.”

He doesn’t say much more, his gaze flickering between you and the contents of your lounge room behind while you clean around the wound—a smaller cut on his cheekbone you realise, once it’s clean. The silence is peaceful as you work away, brain only focused on the task at hand. You swap out the pad for a new one once it’s soiled until his face starts to look recognisable.

Simon breathes softly, fingers tapping ever so often against his leg. When you swipe at the cut with an alcohol wipe he jerks away instinctively, luckily your hand is there to keep him still. You murmur an apology and apply lighter pressure.

Simon has decided he’s had enough of the silence when you reach for his split lip, “Why haven’t you been coming in?” He asks again.

You sigh, still focusing on the cut, “Because I needed a break—from James, and uni, and everything else,”

The mention of James makes his teeth clench in annoyance, you can feel it by the way his jaw tense beneath your fingers, “Why does he bother you so much?”

You roll your eyes, “Because I can’t stand judgement, and I don’t need it from him of all people—”

“Then don’t let him—”

“Stop talking,” you cut him off, “Can’t focus when your mouth is moving,”

He jerks back with a smirk on his face, “My mouth distracting you, doll?”

“No,” you shoot back, purposely pressing the alcohol pad against the open split in retaliation until he hisses, “It’s just incredibly hard to clean this when you’re talking so much,”

“Don’t talk enough, now I talk too much. Which one is it?” He asks, grabbing the wrist that’s holding the wipe and pulling it away from his face.

You gaze at him with what you hope is a neutral expression concealing your true feelings of want. Your other hand is still cradling his jaw as he stares right back, seemingly seeing straight through you.

“I need to finish this, will you let me?”

He stares for a moment longer briefly flicking down to your lips, its seems subconscious as he drifts closer, you almost think he’ll kiss you again but instead he drops his grip and looks away. You take that as your chance to grab the small bandages out of your kit, tearing them open and applying each to his cheek and lip.

When the injuries are sorted there’s nothing else to distract you, all you can see is Simon sitting at your table, legs bracketing yours as he gazes at you somewhat imploringly— like he’s dying to have his answers.

You drop the empty bandage wrappers on the table and zip up the kit when taped hands reach forward to hold the outside of your exposed thighs. It’s gentle, and cautious, the texture of the tape is rough against your skin but his fingers are warm as they hold.

When you look back, he’s hunched forward in concentration as he looks up at you, “Do you want me or not?”

You frown, “What?”

“Do you want me or not?” He repeats.

Your mouth gapes, momentarily speechlessly as you try to wrap your head around the loaded question, “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one,”

You look at him incredulously, “That is not simple Simon, want?” You ask in clarification, “What if we have different meanings of want? What do you want?”

“Everything,” he breathes out, stroking his hands up and down softly, “I want to be here, with you, do you want that?”

Simon watches as you lick your bottom lip in thought, “Yes, I want that,” you murmur, “But—”

“Don’t fucking think about anything else,” he exasperates, “This is between me and you, no one else,”

Your lack of response brings doubt to the surface, “Do you not have faith in me?” He asks.

You think back to James’ comment about Simon’s intentions, you can’t bring yourself to look at him, “I can’t do casual, Simon,” you whisper, heart aching to even think about it, “So I need to know if you’re going to stick around now before this goes any further,”

He shakes his head in disbelief, “What the fuck have you heard about me?”

You peek at him through the corner of his eyes, he almost looks hurt at your accusation, “I just heard that relationships aren’t really…your thing.” You finish lamely.

The hands caressing your thighs turn into arms wrapped around your legs, instinctually you grab onto Simon’s shoulders as he hoists you up onto your dining room table. You wince in sympathy as he grunts in pain from his strained side but he doesn’t give you a chance to fret over it as he stands between the space of your legs.

“When are you going to realise that fuckwit is jealous of me?” He mutters, bracing taped hands on the table either side of you.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise he’s talking about James, still, you look at him confusedly until he elaborates.

He’s inches away from your face, frustration exposed in all in glory as it’s etched onto his features, “What’d he say? That I just want to fuck you? That I’m dangerous?”

You try to look away but his fingers on your chin direct you back towards him, “It was insinuated…”

He sighs and shakes his head, removing his hand from your chin. You feel guilty as he looks down at your lap, it wasn’t fair to let others’ opinions affect this, but you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you didn’t bring it up.

“I want you,” he states unshaken, “More than I’d like to admit. Is that enough for you?”

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth before letting it go. He stares, open and honest, awaiting your answer.

You nod, “Yes, that’s enough.”

Simon wastes no time as he cradles your jaw, the tape scratches against your cheek as he leans forward to kiss you. It’s much more urgent than the last one, but it feels like everything picks up exactly where it left off. You reach out with one hand to hold onto his neck, and hook your leg around the back of his knee to pull him closer.

He obliges, grasping your hip with his other hand and tugging you close until you’re flush against him. It’s desperate, and consuming the way he controls the pace, leaving no more room for question about his desire.

It’s only an afterthought when you feel the scratch of the bandage against your mouth, “Shouldn’t—” you murmur against his lips, “Disturb that,”

Simon looks thrown off by your comment until he sees you staring at his lip, “Really?” He asks, “I can handle a split lip, love,”

You scrunch your nose, gently swiping your thumb underneath it, “It’s not healed, it’ll get infected,”

He pokes his tongue out to lick the tip of your thumb, it makes you smile. He sighs in defeat, “Fuckin’ lip ruins it, ‘uh?”

You withdraw your hands, leaning back against the table, “‘fraid so, love.” you murmur, only slightly apologetic.

Simon can’t feel that much loss when he can see the way your nipples poke through your sleep shirt, immediately drawn in by how noticeable they are against the grey fabric. He suppresses the groan in the back of his throat, and kisses your cheek. When you don’t respond, he pushes his luck and leads a trail further down towards your jaw.

“This alright?” He mumbles against your skin.

You can only hum approvingly, eyes slipping closed as he keeps going until he reaches the junction between your neck and hemline of your shirt. You open your eyes when he lands one last gentle kiss against your lips.

“You should go,” you say softly, “Before I change my mind,”

He smirks, “Find me irresistible do you?”

You roll your eyes, and hovering your hand threateningly over his injured side, “I can make that hurt if you’d like,”

He flinches reactively and shuffles back, “Fuckin’ cunt of a match, glad you missed it.”

You laugh as you hop off the table, Simon trails behind you as you lead him back to the front door. He knows his split lip is an excuse for you to gain control, but he allows it so long as you’re not pushing him away. He’ll have you next time.

When you open the front door, he’s beside you, stroking the side of your face with his thumb. You lean into the warm touch gratefully, feeling much lighter than you have all week.

“Come and see me next week,” it’s not a question, as so much as a forced suggestion, “I’ll save you a spot,”

You frown, “In the crowd?”

He nods affirmatively, but instead of questioning it you just concede, trusting him to figure it out.

“Sure you won’t lose?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Positive.”

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #cod x you #simon ghost x reader

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the-librarby · 13 days ago

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HOME FOR SUMMER I

- JOHN PRICE (COD)

You return home over the summer holidays, desperate to feel something familiar. What greets you is your loving parents and an interesting ranch hand who somehow knows more about you than he leads on.

.･:★ I... have no excuses. It was complete brainrot guys, I fear I'm thirsting for him.

Credit to @/bbyg4rlhelps for the banner.

You desperately needed to get out of this city.

After two years of living in this apartment, you were getting tired of the mundane life you were trying to avoid by moving here. It wasn't the stress of your office job, lack of friends, or god forbid-- the second increase on your rent that uprooted your life. It was actually a simple passing comment from your dad during one of your monthly phone calls.

"You're always wanted here, pumpkin. We miss you dearly."

It didn't take you long to discuss the idea of subletting your apartment with your landlord, thankfully their niece was looking for something and this would be a perfect opportunity. Next was handing in your two weeks notice, although nerve wracking you felt no remorse or guilt over leaving your miserable job. In fact, you were practically skipping out the door saying half-assed goodbyes to coworkers you didn't care about.

When you got back to your apartment your suitcases were already packed and waiting for you by the door. You did one last sweep of your apartment, in the late summer afternoon the sun was still streaming light through its high windows. The mild heat was the only thing that reminded you of home, you spent many hours just sitting in front of them, looking down at the city below in awe. But like most things, awe eventually leads way into the norm. You could never take your experience here for granted though. It was just time for your to return to your roots.

The car dropped you off on the outskirts of your hometown, the paved roads gave into sandy gravel giving them pause. You were too giddy with excitement to care though, eagerly collect your bags from the boot and walking straight through. The sun was beaming already in the early morning, ten minutes out here would make you sweat beads down your neck that's for sure.

When the strip of local shops came into view you all but sprinted with your bags in hand, uncaring of the peering eyes that watched you as you stopped in front of it.

Mama's General Store.

A sweet nostalgic smile tugged at your lips as you admired its faded and peeling paint from the sun exposure, its sunny yellow turning muted and stained with dust. The shop awnings were hanging low to keep the interior cool, but you could still see some people inside through the window. You propped your bags up by the door just outside-- if its anything like when you grew up, people knew to mind their business-- and made your way inside. Instantly you were met with a familiar honey tone.

"Good mornin', sun has bite this mornin' don't it?" Your mum calls out, still looking down at the register, after a moment she slides the cash drawer closed and looks up. Her jaw drops with an excited shout, "You're here!-- Already! Good lord-- Oh, my baby is home!"

A toothy grin splits your face as she rushes out from behind the counter and ropes you into a fierce hug, she pats the back of your head as you dig your face into her shoulder. For a moment you soak it in, like a child would, letting your mum kiss the side of your head and smooth out your hair as she gazes into your eyes.

"I'm home," you announce, tears pricking your eyes.

Your mum immediately picks up on it and swipes her thumbs under your eyes, "Now, now, I won't have that," she warns, her voice wobbling, "This is a happy occasion. I'm so glad you're here-- Oh, your father will be thrilled!"

You peek over her shoulder, "Is he 'round?"

"In the back, right where you left him." She replies, hitching her thumb in the direction of the door that leads out the back.

Your mind guides you on autopilot, remembering forgotten paths you used to walk. Every corner of this town is stored in your mind like a well worn map, you part from your mum and walk towards the back of the store. The dry heat suffocates you instantly as you pry the old thing open, but the reaction is well worth the torturous weather adjustment.

Your father is standing there, overseeing god knows what, various crates of goods lay still packaged as he-- what you think --works to sort them out. He turns around, expression morphing from neutral and well-focused into one of unbridled joy.

He rushes towards you and sweeps you up off the step, with surprising spring and strength from maintained labour, he spins you round in his arms, "My darlin' is home, happy days for us!"

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, "Missed you, dad."

Your mum leans against the doorframe, smiling affectionately at the scene, "Gonna throw out your back again if you keep bein' that reckless,"

A flurry of kisses is pressed against your temple, "Worth it for my babygirl." He mumbles against your head, holding you for a moment longer before placing you down on the dusty ground.

His hands stay placed on your shoulders as he looks you up and down, "Christ, you look ill, what did that city do to you?"

You can hear the click of your mum's tongue in the background, "She's pale, no sunlight with all those tall buildings,"

You roll your eyes and look down at your arms self consciously, so what that you lost almost all your tan? It was a side effect of living indoors, "It's not that bad--"

"Sure is darlin'," your father cuts in, "If I'm noticin' it, it's noticeable,"

"Few hours in the sun'll do you good, child," you mum ushers you back in with a wave, "Go sit outside for a while, I'll bring you an ice drink once we're done with the stock,"

You frown, "What-- you don't want any help? I can put stock away too,"

"No," your father insists.

"In due time, honey," your mum placates, "You just got home, go and relax before you throw yourself back in. We're happy you're home, but you're here for a break remember? Have a break."

You're pouty as your mum leads you outside the front, sitting you down on one of the porch seats that has a stream of direct sunlight pouring over it. She grasps your chin and tugs it side to side affectionately.

"Don't pout," she chastises lightly, "For your own good, soak in those rays, I'll be back in an hour."

You sigh and sink back into your chair, watching as she enters the shop, the little bell above the door announcing her entrance with a ringing chime. It's hard to stay upset when the sun feels so nice against your skin, it tingles in a way that only happens during the peak of the season. You're drawn in by people watching, it's the only thing you can do with this view. People walk to and from places, sleeves rolled up and shirts unbuttoned to fight the blistering heat. Women are waving their personal fans against their faces, wearing light linen dresses or denim shorts.

You look down at you own jeans, silently wishing you opted for shorts instead because they are starting to feel like a second skin, damp with your own sweat. Thankfully, you had the foresight to wear a tank top, so whatever minimal breeze that swept through felt nice against your shoulders. A tired sigh slips out of your lips as you reach for the sunglasses perched on your head, placing them over your eyes. You kick your feet up on the railing that outlines the store and sink deep into your chair.

You're not sure how much time passes with you resting like that, but it has to be at least an hour, when a cough alerts you of someone nearby. You straighten up, removing your sunglasses as you look to the stranger next to you.

He's smiling politely, it's rather charming in its warmth. Dressed in an unbuttoned flannel shirt that shows off the hair dusting his chest. His exposed skin is dark in a way that days in the sun can only do. He clears his throat once more to garner your attention.

"You must be Mama's daughter." his tone is smooth.

At first you try to rack your brain, thinking back to who this could possibly be, but you come up empty. As to not offend, you greet him respectfully, "Yes Sir, heard some things about me have you..."

"Price, John Price," he fills in, he wipes his hand on his jeans before extending it towards you which you gracefully take. His hand is warm and tight around yours as he gives it a firm shake, "I own the ranch down the road-- your mum has lots to say about you,"

You smile sheepishly as you return the handshake, "John," you greet, "All good things I hope." Only slightly embarrassed at the idea of all the things your mum had been gushing about to a complete stranger.

He chuckles, its sound has a direct line into your gut and settles there like a warm fire, "Nothin' but praise, must be a good girl." He notes it so casually that it could only be passed off as polite compliment.

You move to withdraw your hand from his which he lets go of after a beat too long, in an effort to seem more attentive you straighten up in your seat and cross one leg over the other. John follows the trail of your long legs, poor girl, you must be sweltering in those jeans.

"Goodness, she must have talked your ear off, I'm so sorry," you apologise, heat rising to your cheeks.

John gazed over your face, the embarrassed uptick of your mouth and drawn in eyebrows were endearing. You looked like a sweet kid in his eyes, he wondered what drew you back home but fought the urge to ask outright.

All in due time, he would get his answers.

He waves you off, "She's excited," he excuses, "Can't blame 'er, you're an only child. I'd be thrilled if I were in 'er shoes too,"

The idea of this man being thrilled about seeing you--even hypothetically--makes you fluster. You can only nod in response, casually wiping your hands on your jeans to rid of the sweat. The bell above the door chimes, both of you look over to see your mother walking out, two glasses of iced lemonade in hand.

"Oh, Price," your mother greets, "Here to pick up your supplies? They're out back, all ready for you to grab,"

He tips his head, "Yes ma'am," he responds before looking over at you, "Was just sayin' hello to our new visitor."

Your mum sits on the arm of your chair and hands you a glass which you gratefully take if only to have something to busy your hands with, "She's no stranger to these parts," she replies, wrapping her arm over your shoulder, "Grew up here, haven't you learnt anything by all the stories I've told you?"

This time you can't help the groan that slips from your mouth, "Christ, what have I told you about sharing stories about me when I'm not around?"

Your mother looks affronted, looking over at Price and pointing her thumb at you, can you believe this? "Well what else am I meant to talk about? You're the most excitin' thing in my life!"

You shake your head, "Just what have you been spilling about me?"

Price taps his chin in thought, "Where did we leave off?" he questions, completely ignoring you in favour of addressing your mother, "Think we were up to her teenage years right? All that mischief she got up to? Sneaking out at night I heard,"

Your mother laughs, slapping her thigh, "God, she was a nightmare as a teenager, could barely keep her home-- especially at night,"

"Mum!" you hiss, "That's barely a stranger's business,"

"Stranger? Who--Price? He's part of the furniture darlin', plus we're all adults who got up to questionable things in the past," she waves you off, ignoring your feelings of deep mortification.

Price nods thoughtfully, "Yes ma'am, wouldn't want to rehash those days as embarrassing as they are to reflect on."

John-- or Price -- has to be at least in his late thirties from what you can judge. Some would argue this is a man's prime age, firmly established and well experienced. Price seems like a man that age has been kind to, he's unfairly handsome and his friendly disposition only makes it harder to not open up to him.

You take a sip of your lemonade, trying to catch a closer look at him. His shoulders are broad and his arms fill out the sleeves nicely, there has to be some form of well defined muscle under those thin layers from all the manual labour he does. The lemonade is smooth and refreshing, going down easily in this heat.

John stares for a moment longer before shaking his head, "She's a spittin' image of you Mama," he says in awe.

Your mother laughs, patting the back of your head, "Yeah, seems so, got all my family's genes,"

"Can only assume she'll be as beautiful as you when she grows up." he grins.

The cliche charm shouldn't work, but it does coming from him. It just sounds so sincere and only slightly flirtatious in a way that even makes your mother wave him off.

"Please," she rolls her eyes, "Go and get your supplies Price, can't have you taking up my whole day now,"

He nods but turns to you one last time, "Nice meeting you sweetheart, come round to the ranch sometime, I'll give you a tour."

You can only nod in return, hiding behind your glass but secretly watching him walk back where he came from and taking a sharp left around the corner to reach the back of the store.

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