Instinct had me picking up a highlighter pen and throwing it at him. Myaim was off because it hit him on the chin instead of between the eyes.
“Oi, fucker, what was that for?”
“You really think I would do something like that? We had the damn conversation a while back.”
“A while back? How long has this ‘just sex’ been going on?” He tossed the pen back at me. “And am I going to have to find a new assistant?”
“No, you’re fucking not. Like I said, we have an agreement. No consequences when it ends, because we both agreed it’s just short-term while we both scratch an itch.”
Gunner blinked slowly as the vacuuming stopped but Lily’s singing continued. It wasn’t clear what she was supposed to be singing, she was that bad.
“How long has this itch lasted so far?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder when more thudding came from the lounge.
Three months and eighteen days.
“A couple of months, three maybe.” I shrugged.
“And you’ve already had ‘the chat’.”
“Will you fucking stop it with the damn finger bunnies.” I sighed, wishing I’d just stayed locked in here all morning. “And yes, we’ve already had the chat. At the same time we agreed that it was no strings, just sex, and would never be anything different.”
Gunner picked up a pen and started to play with it. The annoying click, click like a time bomb counting down to nothing as he peered at me, knowingly. And I didn’t like it. The two people who knew me best in the world were my brothers. They called me out on my bullshit. They knew what was best for me. They knew when I was lying.
“Okay,” he finally said, still clicking the damn pen. “Have it your way, but when you decide to grow some balls come and see me.” He stood up. “But if I end up needing a new assistant you’re doing the leg work.”
“You won’t need to,” I called to his retreating back. “And bring my damn pen back.”
He didn’t answer but joined in with Lily’s tuneless singing of Britney’s best song ever…in my humble opinion.
Chapter 23
Miss Independent – Kelly Clarkson
Tally
Have you ever felt like your emotions are too big for your body? Like your chest is too tight, your skin itches with pressure, and your throat closes around the words you can’t say? That was how I felt, standing in front of Wilder while he avoided my eyes. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets, he looked out of place. Uncomfortable. Like he wasn’t the same man who’d once strutted through my cabin naked, all swagger and ease. Like he hadn’t curled up on my sofa, tossing popcorn in his mouth and laughing at whatever nonsense we were watching on TV.
I blinked hard, focusing on the wall behind his shoulder. My throat felt raw like I’d swallowed glass. Pins of disappointment stabbing with each distant breath that Wilder exhaled, without looking at me, my fingers curling tighter in on themselves.
“Things have just gotten on top of me the last couple of days,” he lied.
I knew it was a lie because his gaze landed anywhere but on me. I could withstand anything but lies. Lies and indifference.
“Maybe you should just go then,” I told him, pushing back the break in my voice. “Neither of us have time for baggage, Wilder. That’s not what we were ever about.”
Startled eyes swung up to me as he took a step back.
“What? Did you think I’d let you ignore me for two days, barely speak to me earlier at the camp paddock, let you stand here, where you clearly don’t want to be, and then invite you into my bed?”
“Brownie I?—”
“Nuh-uh.” I cut him short and strode to the door. “That cute little nickname isn’t going to cut it.” I yanked the door open and with a deep breath stood to one side. “When you’ve figured out whether you want to be here or not, then you let me know. But, until then, we’ll take it that you don’t, and I do not beg Mr. Miller.”
“I don’t want you to, I’m just so…”
I gave him a couple of seconds, but he gave me nothing.
“Yep, thought so.” I held the door open wider and looked down at the floor.
