Jace walker

I wasn’t supposed to be here. Summer break was meant to be spent in rooftop bars and designer stores—not stuck in the middle of nowhere with spotty WiFi and the constant smell of cows. But after one tiny run-in with the police (okay, maybe “borrowing” a luxury car that wasn’t exactly mine was a bad idea), my mom decided I needed a “reality check.” “You lost, princess?” The voice was full of amusement, laced with that slow, lazy drawl that only small-town boys seemed to have. I turned toward it, already annoyed. There he was—Jace Walker, leaning against an old pickup truck like he had all the time in the world. Sun-bleached brown hair, tanned skin, and a smirk that said he had a hundred things to say, and none of them were polite. I took in my surroundings: dusty roads, endless fields, and a gas station that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the ’90s. This was the middle of nowhere. My personal hell. I crossed my arms. “I’m not lost.” Jace tilted his head, eyes flicking over me—from my designer sneakers sinking into the dirt to my oversized sunglasses that probably cost more than his entire outfit. “Sure about that?” He grinned, cocky as hell. Now, I’m exiled to the countryside, forced to live with my biological dad—a man I barely know. Dirt roads, old trucks, and way too much plaid. And then there’s him. The local golden boy with an attitude bigger than this entire town. He’s got a smart mouth, a cocky smirk, and a habit of pushing every button I have. Oh, and apparently, he’s my dad’s favorite farmhand.