“I’m so good,” I tell him.
A warm smile creeps across his face and he leans down to kiss my forehead.
This moment is everything. This man is everything.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Colt
If the line between Rowan and I was a little unclear before, it’s become so blurred now that it no longer exists. I invited her to stay in my bed last night – it didn’t feel right to take her virginity and leave her to sleep alone – and waking up with her in my arms this morning brought a warmth to my chest that I haven’t felt in years.
It’s not often that I spend the night with a woman after sleeping with her, and on the rare occasion that I do, I almost always find a way to get out of there before there’s time to have any morning conversation or talk of a second date. I’ve been lucky to only have been wrangled into one or two next-day breakfasts.
I spend at least twenty minutes just watching Rowan sleep, stroking her hair as she takes the softest little breaths. She looks smaller than usual, and so peaceful, it seems almost impossible after the shitty hand of cards she’s been dealt.
Her alarm waking her up and dragging her away from that peace almost feels like an act of violence, and she’s annoyed by it until she turns toward me. A soft smile washes over her and she leans forward to nuzzle her face into the crook of my neck.
“Hi,” she says, her voice muffled.
“Hi,” I laugh, then press a kiss to her head. “You feel okay?”
“I’m good, promise.” She pulls her phone toward her to check the time, then throws her head back with a sigh and starts to climb out of the bed. “Want waffles?”
I want more of you.
“Sure,” I say instead.
I watch as she walks to my dresser, naked and so fucking perfect. She digs through my drawers like she owns them and pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers.
Looking over her shoulder as she presses the shirt to the front of her, she orders, “Don’t look!”
I let out a laugh and pretend to look away, but I just can’t. The way she looks slipping into my clothes is enough to drive me crazy. I could keep her in my bed all goddamn day, tasting her, touching her, fucking her.
We eat more slowly than usual, each of us throwing the other and occasional glance or smirk, hoping Macie won’t pick up on anything or ask any questions, like ‘why are you wearing Mr. Colt’s clothes?’ Or ‘why didn’t you come out of your own room for breakfast?’
Kids are smart, this one especially so. I worry that if questions were raised about my relationship with her sister, that would probably fall under the category of things ‘getting weird,’ and they’d have to pack up their things and leave.
After breakfast, I clean up while Rowan drops her sister off at school, then take a quick shower and head to the office, which is a shitshow, waiting for me in full swing when I walk in the doors; the remnants of the other day still needing sorted. Even Davis is on high alert and raising his voice, which tells me that something has gone very, very wrong somewhere.
I spend the next five hours making phone calls, sending emails, shouting at people who need to be shoutedat, and generally cleaning up the mess that did not need to turn into the catastrophe that it almost became.
Because of the mess, I’m forced to fire the three employees responsible. I don’t like firing people, and when I can, I find a workaround to it; changing their position, restricting their access to certain areas of the company, but this security breach could have been disastrous and should never have happened, so they have to leave.
It’s nearly eight when I start locking down the building, Davis not far behind me, and all of the employees gone for the night.
A hand claps me on the shoulder and Davis appears at my side, announcing, “Drinks tonight. What a fuckin’ day, man.”
“Meet you there,” I tell him.
•
Dive bars aren’t usually my thing, but Davis and I have been coming to this one since he was nineteen – I was plenty old enough, but we liked it here because the bartenders never checked ID and the pour was always heavy even though the drinks were cheap.
It’s a dirty, run down little bar with chipped wood furnishings and a slight reek of mildew lingering in the air, regardless of the amount of air freshener the owner sprays.
My feet crunch on discarded peanut shells and shards of pretzel with almost every step, and parts of the carpet are peeled up, but it’s still a welcoming place, flaws or otherwise. I don’t think I’d enjoy it nearly as much if it was cleaner. The grime gives it character.
We take our usual seats at a booth near the back, next to a pool table and a busted pinball machine that hasn’t worked since two thousand fourteen. I don’t know why the owners never bothered with fixing it or even just dumping the thing out back with the trash.
