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“Bullshit. What you two have has been real since you met him. You’re too stubborn to admit it aloud, but we both know it. The way you care for one another? That’s not fake, but you’ve been using that excuse as a cover every time you get scared. It’s time to put your big chonies on and fucking admit it.” Gracie paused dramatically, then let up on the serious talk like she knew I was at my limit. “You know what you need? Your vibrator and some quality time imagining Dalton clapping them cheeks,” she joked, providing sound effects.

“You need to start dating better men. Clapping them cheeks? Really, Gracie, is that what they’re saying to you?”

“Pounding your pompis?”

That did the trick. A laugh burst from deep in my chest. By the time we stopped laughing, tears were streaming down my face.

“Please put that on a shirt.”

“Oh, you know I’m already on that shi—” A loud knock interrupted whatever she would’ve said next.

I froze, heart leaping into my throat, because there was only one option for who could be at my door in this apartment.

FORTY-ONE

DALTON

YOU KNOW *THE* CHARACTER ART FROM THIS BOOK Y’ALL LOVE…HERE YOU GO!

Never imagined walking down my hallway in nothing but my briefs, cowboy boots, and a hat.

I’d finished the dishes and then paced my bedroom for the past twenty minutes, thoughts racing. I knew I’d told myself to give her time, but fuck that. I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer.

Tonight was it.

I stood there, flooded with the same nervous energy I got before a puck drop. What if she didn’t answer? It was like midnight already. Or worse, what if she answered and then closed the door in my face?

Nervousness shifted into something more akin to unease. Before I could chicken out, I gave a few hard raps on the wooden door.

What the fuck am I doing? Please don’t answer, please don’t answer, please don’t⁠—

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of her.

I didn’t care that I was being obvious about checking her out. She’d answered the door in nothing but a matching silk pajama set. The light pink perfectly complemented her toned, tanned legs. Those fucking shorts showed off the curve of her ass, and there was no air left in the room.

In the background, I heard who I assumed was Gracie yelling something.

All I could focus on was Ari, her dark hair tumbling down around her shoulders, those wide brown eyes looking up at me with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something I hadn’t dared to hope for.

“Dalton?” she asked, a crease forming between her brows. “What are you wearing?”

“You said you liked me in my boots and hat,” I answered with a shrug, like that explained it.

One corner of her lips curved. I clocked the moment she noticed the pattern on my boxer-briefs. “There are suns on your underwear, Thatcher.”

Every time she used my name, it sent a jolt to my heart. But when it rolled off her tongue in that husky tone, it made a detour down to my dick.

“Yes there are, Sunshine.”

With two steps, I’d closed the distance between us, wrapping one hand around the back of her head and pushing her against the wall, my hips lined up with hers.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I rasped out, as all my reservations about showing up at her door like a lovesick puppy went out the goddamn window. Not with the way she was staring at me right now.

Her pink tongue played with my resolve, poking out and wetting her plump bottom lip. “What…what do you mean?” she whispered.

I wanted to devour her.

To imprint myself so deeply on her, she’d lower all her walls for me. I wanted to leave her struggling to breathe at the thought of us not being together, in the same way she left me.