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Two things I want to destroy.
And let the glorious aftermath rain down on me.
When I arrive at his cabin that fits him perfectly, I am nowhere near figuring out an answer. I have no clue. I guess all I can do is wait it out or maybe just ask. I don’t know if I have the guts to do the latter, considering if he rejects me, it’ll be awkward when I watch the dogs. Since I love Gretzky and Gordie and want to help Riggs, I don’t want to mess with a good thing. But what if it can be more?
I consider calling one of my sisters, but everyone has something going on. Austen is busy traveling with her Russian Stallion through Russia. Eliza is deep into Coleson’s rehab for his leg in Nashville and running the coffee business back here. Louisa is planning her wedding with Ciaran, while traveling back and forth between here and Nashville for Dirty Pages. Elliot is growing my nephew and building a life with her baby daddy, while doing all the social media for the Bears. She also doesn’t want me with Riggs, so I can’t really talk to her about it.
It’s times like this I wish I had friends outside of my sisters.
But that means I’d have to like other people.
Ew.
I roll my eyes as I park my SUV up in front of the wooden fence. I get out, collecting the dogs from the back where I have them strapped in, and then I let them run around like crazy. They bark happily and nip at one another playfully as I take in the secluded cabin that only makes me grin. It’s so Riggs. All dark and mysterious, and in the middle of fucking nowhere. I bet he likes not having neighbors or having to deal with people. The house is a dark-wood log cabin with orange shutters and a bright-orange door. Like all Tennessee fans, he takes the color orange very seriously. I spy a wood-chopping spot, and I feel my lips curve. I bet he chops his own wood. All sweaty and hot. Muscles bulging and wood chips flying.
Once I have my phone out of my pocket, I take a photo and send it to him.
Me: Are you a lumberjack?
Riggs: Yes, it’s my side hustle.
Me: Can I record it and sell it on OnlyFans?
Riggs: For what?
Me: Duh, thirst traps.
Riggs: No. I’m exclusive on OnlyLumberJacks.com
I snort.
Me: Send me the link.
Riggs: No can do. I can’t be responsible for the damage to your innocent brain.
I snort louder at that.
Me: Oh, Coach, Sir, Man Guy, there is not a damn thing innocent about me. Want my OnlyFans?
A text bubble appears, disappears, and by the time it happens a ninth time, I’m cackling.
Me: I’m kidding.
Riggs: Thank fuck. I was nervous you were serious, and I wasn’t sure how to act like I didn’t know that tidbit of information about the granddaughter of my boss.
That has me pressing my lips together.
So, does he want me but not want to act on it because of my peepaw?
Interesting.
I tuck my phone into my pocket since I’m not sure how to answer that, and I call to the dogs as I head to the front door. I use my key, and the dogs barrel in, rushing to the water bowl to rehydrate. I lock the door then the dead bolt before taking off my shoes and setting my purse by the door. I carry over my dishes from this morning and wash them before finding one of the little dinners Riggs made for me. I turn on the oven then place themeal on a sheet pan to put in after my shower. I’m all hot and sticky.
The dogs are on my heels as I head back to his bedroom with my overnight bag while I try to ignore the butterflies taking flight in my gut. I’m going to sleep in his bed. Without him, but in his bed. I wonder if it smells like him?
Oh, I hope.
I shimmy in excitement. Once I hit the switch, the room floods with light, and I take in Riggs’s space. It’s just a bed, dresser, and an ensuite bathroom. However, the bathroom is a thing of beauty. All white marble, with a dark navy clawfoot tub and a handheld shower attachment hanging above the tub. Does my grumpy coach like baths? The tub is massive enough for two, which makes me green with envy over the women he’s brought here to take a bath with him. Maybe cleaning up from a massive fuck session or being carried to a massive fuck session.
