Not My Kind of Hero

by Pippa Grant

“You miss Tony,” Kory says. “His niece is here and sad and single. Plus, she has something you want.” “I do not want—” “You don’t have to want the ranch for yourself to want what she has for a different purpose. And you don’t have to like her to recognize that she’s hot. This has Flint Jackson Fucked-Up Relationship Special written all over it.”

Clearly, I have a type. I like the guys who don’t like me.

“And I hope you think of me when you eat that cherry crisp. It’s the last thing of mine you’ll ever eat.”

The last thing I want is to have to ask him if he has another can of water because his body makes my mouth go drier than the Wyoming summer.

“My mom is not interested in dating right now.” “Junie.” “You just got divorced. You’re vulnerable. And I don’t like how he’s looking at you.”

He grips me by the elbow, shoots a stream of hose water down my biceps, and I feel like his touch has just branded me for life.

I don’t want to apologize to Maisey Spencer. I want to lift her off her feet, shove her against a wall, and devour her.

I miss not knowing everything that was wrong, and I miss the parts of life that used to be easy, even if they were wrong. I just want something to be easy. Just for a minute. So I can catch up and breathe.”

“I want to be more than your friend, but I know it’s complicated, and I know we have to go slow, and I know there are people in your life who need to come before me.”

“I spent my entire childhood wishing someone would do for me what you’re doing for your daughter. I get it, Maisey. I do. She needs to come first. So whatever it takes—however long it takes—for her to get comfortable with the idea of us, I can wait.”

“She’s not happy,” June continues. “And I hate when she’s not happy, even though I’m supposed to be a teenager who doesn’t care, because you always hate to see the people you love hurting. Always. And you look miserable, too, and you’re not a dick—not like my dad—not yet, anyway—and I just—look. If you want to date my mom, I don’t care. I mean, I do care. Don’t hurt her. Don’t make her sad. Don’t use her. Don’t take her for granted. Don’t be a toadstool. Don’t cheat on her. Don’t lie to her. And don’t push it, because I will know, and apparently I can bring the entire tabloid industry to their knees, so do not test me.”