“Right.” I keep my voice light. Careless. “Wouldn’t want to worry anyone.”
I find my clothes, dress with my back to him. The wet fabric clings, and I’m shivering for real now, but I’ll be damned if I ask him for help.
When I turn around, he’s watching me. His expression is still unreadable, but his hands are clenched at his sides.
“Delaney—”
“We should go.” I move past him toward the door. “Like you said.”
The ride back is silent.
His arm is around my waist—tight, almost possessive—but he hasn’t said a word since we mounted up. I’m stiff against his chest, hyperaware of every place our bodies touch, waiting for the speech.
This was a mistake. We work together. It can’t happen again.
I should beat him to it. Say it first. Take back some control.
But I can’t make myself form the words.
“Captain Winky’s going to expect a raise after today,” I say instead. “Hazard pay.”
It’s a weak joke. It falls flat between us.
Daniel doesn’t laugh.
More silence. The ranch lights appear in the distance, warm against the gray sky. Something in my chest tightens. Almost there. Almost done with this awkward purgatory.
“You should move to Stoneridge.”
I go rigid. “What?”
“The guest room. It’s closer to work, safer than that commute?—”
“Are you kidding me?” I twist to look at him, and the movement makes Captain Winky sidestep. “We’re not even back yet, and you’re already telling me where to live?”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not telling you. I’m?—”
“You literally just said ‘you should.’ That’s telling.”
“Fine. I’m suggesting?—”
“No.” I turn back around, staring at the approaching ranch. “I’m not doing this. I’m not going to be your convenient—whatever. Close enough to fuck when you want but tucked away in a guest room so it’s not complicated."
“That’s not what I?—”
“Then what? What is this, Daniel?” I hate how my voice shakes. “Because five minutes ago, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough, and now you want me living in your house?”
Silence.
His arm is still around my waist, but it feels different now. Tense. His whole body is rigid behind me.
“I’m trying,” he says finally, “to do this right.”
“Do what right?”
“This.” The word comes out rough. Frustrated. “You work for me. I’d be your landlord. I just—” He stops. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “I know what this looks like. I know what I look like. Another man with power over you, making demands.”
I don’t say anything. My heart pounds.
