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Light footsteps come through the kitchen. My eyes flicker open to see Rosie, still avoiding my gaze, walk through with two empty wineglasses. On instinct, I reach out and grab her wrist.
She doesn’t pull away, but her body grows still, eyes forward. She’s wearing a pair of forest-green leggings with a soft, billowy, long-sleeved white shirt with a classic Santa Claus face on it. From the gentle sway of her breasts underneath, it would appear that braless Friday has begun. My hands ache to reach underneath it and feel her supple nipples under my fingertips.
“How long are you going to keep ignoring me?” I speak in a low growl.
She sighs, finally turning to face me with her big blue-green eyes. “Who said I was ignoring you?”
Her face is schooled with an expression of boredom, but the racing pulse on her neck betrays her attempt at indifference. I slide my fingers up her arm slowly.
“Where did you sleep last night?” I have to know. It’ll eat me alive.
She’s given you no reason to believe she wants Duke anymore. You’re irrational.
She tilts her head slightly, stubborn bottom lip protruding. “Here. In a bed.”
“Whose bed?”
My fingers have reached the top of her shoulders, just above her collarbone. I squeeze her gently, using just enough pressure to make her eyes widen before her lids grow hooded.
“Why do you care?” she whispers.
“You know that I care.” I don’t bother hiding the desire or the misery in my voice from her.
Her eyes grow darker as she folds her arms across her chest stubbornly, still holding the wineglasses. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I release her, stepping back as if she’d slapped me. Of all the stupid, shitty things I’ve done in this life, not making it abundantly clear how deeply in love with her I am has to take the fucking cake.
She spins away from me, walking around the island the long way to get to the pantry. Duke bursts out laughing at something Sterling said while Dolly erupts into an animated story about something stupid one of the ranch hands did today. I turn around and stumble out of the kitchen, swiping a bottle of whiskey from the countertop as I head for my room.
I need to shower, to think, to figure out how the fuck to communicate to this woman that I am so deeply gone for her that I don’t have a fucking clue how to even express it at this point. I’m mad for her. I’m losing my mind. I can’t sleep without her. I can’t stop obsessing about who she might be cuddling up with at night. I can’t get her out of my head.
You’re a fucking pussy.
I chug some of the liquid courage down as I enter my bathroom. I strip down naked, then turn on the shower. I don’t bother waiting for it to heat up before stepping inside and letting the cold water shock my system. After another long draw of the liquor, the water finally warms me. I don’t know how long I sit underneath it, racking my brain for some kind of gesture, some way to show her I want her, desperately.
I could buy her a horse.
Too much.
I could build her a house on the ranch for us, then ask her to move in.
Way too much.
I could just grab her face and kiss her senseless until she weakens underneath me.
Not enough.
I could invite her to a picnic, make a fancy spread for her.
Still not enough.
All of it feels trivial, too small for what we’ve been through and how incredibly idiotic I’ve been. A creaking sound draws my attention to the door of the bathroom. I look over to see a flash of red hair.
Rosie is standing in my bathroom, arms crossed. Even through the foggy glass, I can see that her eyes are watery. There’s no sense in hiding it as my dick begins to swell.
I take another shot of whiskey, reaching for my growing erection. “Care to join me?”
She scoffs, grabbing the shower door and jerking it open. She doesn’t bother removing her clothes before stepping into the shower with me.
