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CHAPTER 22

My son is officially the biggest cock block I’ve ever met.

After he spent the day yesterday helping Skylar get a new tire, replacing her spare, and making sure she was fixed up and able to drive safely to park up here at the ranch, I suppose I should be proud of him.

When in reality, I’m insanely fucking jealous of the fact he and Flinn have been able to take care of her in all the ways I want to be able to.

It’s been two nights.

Two nights without her, when she’s been in the guest room just across the hall. I’ve laid in bed restlessly arguing with myself and my moral fiber. Weighing up the possibility of whether I can steal her away to be with me in the midnight hours when no one, except our guilty consciences, could possibly know.

Because Skylar made it clear that she wouldn’t do anything to hurt Brad and that she doesn’t want this to ruin my relationship with him.

So, who am I to go against her wishes?

The easiest solution has been to stay away. To find a hundred and one jobs to do around the ranch and let them all hang out together, getting things ready for this New Year’s Eve party. This is how everything would usually be in the past when Skylar spent time here.

Except, in all those years, all that time she spent around the place, that wasn’t when she was on my mind twenty-four fucking seven. Now she is, and I can’t erase her from my thoughts.

The three of them have been hanging out here at the house since Brad and Flinn’s place is barely more than a single-room cabin. It works perfectly for just the two of them but isn’t exactly big enough for having guests over. Right now, the guys are sprawled out side by side on the couch, with some shitty action movie pulled up on the big screen. All I can see is the backs of their heads, while Skylar is curled up in one of the large armchairs over by the window, giving me a perfect view of her side profile. Her Kindle is balanced on her lap, and I’m immediately transported back to Christmas Day, lying with her tucked against my side on the couch … and everything that came after.

Fuck.

I have to subtly readjust myself as I linger in the kitchen. Truth be told, I walked in, saw Skylar, and promptly forgot what I meant to come in here for.

She’s so much better at this than me, managing to keep a straight face and not look my way every three seconds, which is all I seem to be able to do whenever we’re in the same room.

Thank fuck, because if it were up to me, I would have given our entire secret away far too quickly.

After texting her briefly when they went to get her tire replaced and collect her car, I’ve opened and composed what feels like a hundred new messages. Only, each time I inevitably hit delete, seeing as I shouldn’t be saying any of the shit I actually want to say. There’s also always too much of a risk my son will pick up her phone or see what’s on the screen, which has been enough to have me silently cursing and shoving my phone back in my pocket.

However, right now, I can see that the guys are occupied with whatever they’re watching. Brad might even be asleep from what I can tell.

Stop biting your lip so hard.

Crossing my ankles, I lean my ass back against the sink. Partly hidden by the large island in the middle of the kitchen, it’s easy to hang back here while still being able to see through to the lounge with the open-plan layout.

I don’t hear her phone make a sound; however, as I watch on, she picks it up immediately, which leads my pulse to race a little harder.

Has she been keeping it on silent, just in case I do text her again?

Ever the tease, Skylar quickly types on the screen without looking my way or allowing her expression to change. If anyone were to look at her, she could be texting her goddamn grandmother for all they would know.

My phone buzzes in my palm.

Sweetheart:

Sorry, but it’s not easy.

Not when you’re making it impossible for a girl to concentrate.

Do I distract you?

No.

I can see you squirming.

You don’t “distract” me.