Can I even call it that when we never made anything official? Do people still call it that in their thirties?
Shaking my head, I suck in a ragged breath before pushing off the wall. With every step away from the barn, my emotions war between heartbreak—again—and anger. Not just with Nash for starting this whole mess, but myself for not being able to tell him to get lost, and Ward for not believing I want to be with him.
That wasn’t what he asked you, Betty, I chide myself as I stomp back to the Miller house. I need a shower, some tea, and maybe a few shots of bourbon.
The bustle of daily ranch life booms around me, but I don’t hear it. I hear nothing but Nash and Ward’s words repeating one after another.
“Then you can’t be with him.”
“You need to decide who and what you want.”
Over and over again, their demands run through my mind. Nash has been the only man I have truly wanted my entire life, but Ward helped me see how much more I deserve than what I’ve had in the past, including my ex, whom I thought would be forever.
Punching the code into the front door, a blast of cool air hits me. It’s enough to break me out of my trance. There’s work to do before I meet up with River and her childhood friend Sadie tonight.
Grabbing water from the fridge, I check my messages.
River.
Tate.
My mother.
Beckett.
Jim.
Nash.
“Why can’t you just let me go?” I groan, stomping through the house, tossing my phone on my bed, and then disappearing into the bathroom.
A shower will help. It will solve everything.
The groan of the pipes as I turn the shower nozzle makes me wince. It’s so damn loud, but I guess that’s to be expected in an older home like this. Although it has been updated over the years, the foundation dates back to the early 1800s. Those bones are still there.
Testing the temperature, satisfied that it’s hot enough to burn off the confusion of the day, I strip out of my clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Usually, the mess would make me cringe, but today I don’t care.
Running my hands through my hair, I let the water soak into the strands. A smile crests my lips, remembering all the times Ward has done the same motion. His strong fingers combing my hair back so he could kiss me sweetly. The images flash and then disappear before I pile shampoo into my hands.
My scalp prickles as I massage the lavender-scented soap into my hair, the suds multiplying before they smack onto the tile floor. It takes longer than it should to rinse every drop of shampoo free before lathering the length in the matching conditioner. Securing my hair in a clip atop my head, a new image flashes before my eyes.
My palms curl around my neck, sliding over my clavicles, only to grab hold of my heavy breasts. My core tightens in response, the muscles clenching, begging for hands. His hands. Nash’s rough palms roam over my skin, consuming me. Those skilled fingers pinching my hardened nipples painfully as he whispers against my throat.
You’re mine, Beatrice.
“Yes,” I moan, allowing my hands to drift lower, grazing over the top of my pelvis. “I’ve only ever wanted to be yours.”
Then, as if someone snapped their fingers, the image fades. Gazing down at my hand, my fingers tremble, the tip of my middle digit seconds from rubbing along my sensitive clit.
“Dammit, Betty. Get it together.”
Lathering my sponge, I quickly wash my body, determined to leave the fantasies behind. Allowing my eyes to drift shut, yet another finds me. Ward’s lean frame presses against my back, his palms lightly gripping my biceps, while Nash presses against my front. Nash’s lips trail over my throat as his hard length presses against my stomach. But it’s Ward’s fingers in my hair while he kisses the spot behind my ear that makes me moan.
They both whisper their demands.
Pick me.
I’m the one you’ve always wanted.
