But tonight, she's here. She's safe. She called me when she needed help.
And that's going to have to be enough.
Chapter 5 - Nicole
I lie in the dark, listening to the silence from across the hall, and try to convince myself that what just happened in the kitchen was normal. Friendly. Completely platonic.
I'm failing spectacularly.
*"It hits different when it's you."*
What the hell does that mean?
My heart won't stop racing. My mind won't stop replaying every word, every look, every subtle shift in his expression. The way he said I was important. The way he listened to my stupid dreams about Italy and Ireland like they mattered. The way he looked at me in his clothes like—
Like what? Like he wanted me? Or am I still doing that pathetic thing where I read meaning into basic human kindness?
Probably the latter. Definitely the latter.
Boone Sullivan doesn't want me. He wants someone who fits into his life. Someone who loves this ranch as much as he does. Someone who doesn't dream about escaping to foreign countries because they can't stand their own reality.
Someone who isn't his little brother's best friend.
But God, the way he looked at me tonight. In the truck. In the kitchen. Like he was fighting something. Like he wanted to say more but couldn't. Like he was holding himself back from—
From what? Kicking me out? Telling me the truth about how pathetic my crush is? Explaining that he knows I touch myself thinking about him and it makes him uncomfortable?
I pull the quilt up to my chin and breathe in the scent of his flannel. Woodsy and masculine and safe. Everything I've ever wanted wrapped around my body like a promise.
A promise he hasn't made. A promise he never will make.
Because I want to leave and he wants to stay. Because I'm twenty-two and he's thirty-eight. Because I'm Colt's friend and he's Colt's brother and there are lines you don't cross no matter how badly you want to.
But lying here in his guest room, wearing his clothes, knowing he's right across the hall thinking about... what? Me? The ranch? Anything but me?
It makes me want impossible things.
Makes me want to get up, walk across that hallway, knock on his door, and tell him the truth. Tell him I've been in love with him for years. Tell him I don't actually want to leave if leaving means never seeing him again. Tell him that every dream I have about the future includes him in it, even though I know it's hopeless.
But I don't do any of that. Because I'm a coward. Because rejection would destroy me. Because keeping my pathetic secret is easier than risking our friendship, Colt's trust, and the only stable thing left in my life.
So, I just lie here, aching and wanting, listening for sounds of him across the hall.
Eventually, I hear his bed creak. Hear him shift. Hear him settle.
And slowly, finally, I start to drift.
Next Day
I wake up with my hand inside my panties.
"Fuck," I whisper, pulling my hand away like I've been burned.
I was dreaming. Something intense and vivid and absolutely filthy involving Boone's hands, Boone's mouth, Boone's cock stretching me open while he whispered dirty things in that rough voice.
My pussy is soaked. Throbbing. Desperate for the friction my dream promised but my waking self can't deliver.
Not here. Not in his house. Not when he could walk in at any moment.
