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I put the knife inside the nightstand drawer. It would be a shame to accidentally slit her pretty throat if I woke up and thought I was back in prison like I had the other morning.
The day was wrought with stress and men tempting me to end up back in prison. Jensen joked with the group of cowboys about an old bet they’d had going around years ago—that whoever took Rosie Dixon’s virginity would get her initials branded on his chest as a reward, a forever reminder that he fucked her first.
The temptation to fire him on the spot was so great that Cash had to physically hold me back and remind me that he’s our only reliable hand at the moment. The little fucker had been begging for a fist to be planted in his jugular.
My boxers are all I’m sleeping in. She’ll just have to deal with it if it bothers her. I move to the window, unlatching it and continuing to wait on her.
After what happened this afternoon at the picnic, I was nervous she wasn’t going to come, forcing me to go pick up another woman at the bar to sleep with. For some reason, sex with a stranger doesn’t have the same appeal it once did. The blonde I brought home last week was ready and willing, but the way she made it so easy was a turnoff.
Sure, that’s why you turned it down.
A tapping sound on the window draws my attention. I move over to it, brushing the curtain back to see Rosie with a black hoodie over her head. The window creaks loudly as I slide it up.
“Did you rob a 7-Eleven on the way here?”
“I didn’t want anyone to see me!” she whisper-yells, climbing through the low opening with a backpack on.
“Damn right, you don’t. They’d probably shoot you, thinking you’re a thief.”
Once she’s all the way through, I shut and lock the window, brushing the curtains back in place. When I turn around, she’s standing in the center of the room, hoodie still on. She looks like a rabbit caught in a trap.
“So, who’s sleeping on the floor?” she asks.
I raise a brow. “Not me. Don’t know why you would either. Bed is plenty big enough for two.”
I fall into it, exhaling as her mere presence draws a sense of calm over my exhausted body. Now that she’s here, I know I can sleep. I’ll be able to rest without panicking—at least for tonight.
She lingers at the foot of the bed. I watch John Wayne yell at his wife on the screen for another few minutes before turning to her.
“What are you so afraid of, Dixon?”
“I could ask you the same, Redford.”
Someone still needs a good spanking—that’s for damn sure.
“I put the knife in the drawer. Did you bring your pen?” I hold back a smirk, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much I fucking love bantering with her.
My eyes travel back to the TV. After a few beats of me pretending to ignore her, she finally inches closer to the bed.
She exhales decisively. “Listen, I am physically incapable of sleeping in a bra. I know that sounds made up, but I’m serious. It itches, and it sticks into my ribs in a bunch of weird places. I have to take it off.”
“Who are you talking to?” I turn to her, schooling my expression into mock disinterest.
She rolls her eyes, marching toward the bathroom. “I just didn’t want you to take this the wrong way.”
As soon as her back is turned to me, I break into a much-needed smile. Dixon is fucking hilarious, and she’s not even trying.
Lack of sleep must be making me delirious.
After a few minutes, I hear the water running, the toilet flush, and the door open.
I don’t acknowledge her. My eyes are half lidded, and I’m struggling to stay awake. Part of me needs to confirm that she really is going to keep up her end of the bargain and actually sleep in my bed. She could try sneaking out, slithering off to Duke’s room for all I know. I force myself to watch the movie until she gets into bed.
“Do you normally sleep with the TV on?” she asks.
I blink, facing her. “No.”
She’s wearing a loose pink tank top with tiny, silky shorts that look just like the pink ones, but these are white with yellow hearts on them. They are so fucking short.
