Beau looked down at his hands, then back at me. His gaze dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up. “You were… persuasive, Winnie. You made some suggestions.”
“Suggestions?” I squeaked.
“You might have mentioned something about choosing me. And you might have…” He paused, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “You might have pulled me onto this bed.”
So it wasn’t a dream. The heat, the weight, the way he’d growled against my neck—that was real.
“Did we…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“No,” Beau said firmly. “We didn’t.”
I let out a breath, unsure if it was relief or disappointment. Probably both. “Oh. Good. That’s… good.”
“I stopped it,” he said, his voice rough. He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the mattress near my hip. The mattress dipped, and the memory of his weight over me flashed so vivid I nearly gasped. “Not because I didn’t want to. But because you were drunk. And I told you…” He trailed off, his eyes dark.
“What did you tell me?” I whispered.
“I told you to choose me when you were sober,” he said.
The memory slammed into place.
I’m not going to be the mistake you regret in the morning.
I stared at him, wide-eyed. He hadn’t taken advantage. He hadn’t played the playboy. He’d walked away.
“You left,” I said.
“Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he admitted, a wry smile twisting his lips. “I went to my room and took a shower that was colder than the Arctic.”
He stood up then, the moment breaking as he retreated to the safety of the doorframe. “So. Now you know. You didn’t do anything stupid. You just… told me the truth. I hope.”
I sat there, clutching the sheet, my hangover suddenly a distant second to the racing of my heart. “And what if I still feel that way? Now that I’m sober-ish?”
Beau stopped. He turned back, his hand on the knob. The look he gave me was scorching—pure, unadulterated heat that promised exactly what would happen if I kept pushing.
“Then drink your water, Winnie,” he said low. “Get your head clear. Because the next time you pull me onto that bed? I’m not walking away.”
He stepped out and closed the door.
I fell back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling fan, my body humming like a live wire.
Okay. So it wasn’t a dream.
It was a preview.
BEAU
The cost of saying
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
Thursday Afternoon, 14:15
"The best things in life are the ones that grow slow, like roots in good soil." – Unknown
***
I wasn't built for this kind of waiting.
