He bites back a grin. “A girl that’sjust afriendis never reallyjust a friend.” He laughs under his breath and slaps me on the back as he walks past. “I know that game all too well, man.”
“Yeah, well… thisfriendis engaged so I’m pretty sure friends is all we’ll ever be.” I swallow hard and try redirecting his attention to the distillery room, but he’s heading back toward the front door.
“The lies we tell ourselves.” He sucks in a quick breath. “Is she happy with this guy?”
“Happy don’t matter. She’s with him, so end of story.”
He nods once as though he’s reading the subtext of everything I’m saying. “So she’s not happy and you want to fix it for her, don’t you?”
I’ve gotten to know Ryker fairly well over the year we’ve been building the distillery, but I’m not sure we’re on ball-busting terms yet.
“Like I said, she’s with this other guy. They’re engaged. I’ve gotta respect it.”
“Whatever you say, man.” He glances around the room. “From what I can see, everything looks good, but one of my brothers will be by later for a final walkthrough. I’ve gotta get up to the arena and meet some folks, but thanks for letting me in.”
I nod once as he heads back out into the cold, but my mind is stuck on the conversation we just had, mostly because he said everything I’m trying not to admit to myself.
I’m not this asshole. I’m not the guy who thinks about taking another man’s woman. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of everything I stand for, but there’s something about Sara that makes my chest ache and my palms itch, like if I don’t touch her, kiss her, hold her… I’ll explode.
Seriously though, who am I kidding? What grown fucking man thinks like that about another man’s woman? Me. What good man jerks off every night to thoughts of another man’s fiancé? Me. What kind of dude imagines the scent of another man’s girl on his face? Me.
The whole thing is fucking sick, and I don’t feel good about it. Trouble is, I don’t know how to make the urges stop.
I tilt my head to the side in thought. I could find someone else to cut my hair, but it’s hard to find someone who does itright, and Sara does everything exactly how I like it.That’s more important than people give credit.
I swallow hard, grab a rag out of the toolbox, and run it along the edge of the counter where dust has settled on the wood. I have a list of things to get done this morning that don’t involve playing out sexual scenarios with Sara in my head, but for some reason my brain is more interested in thinking about how good she’d taste over the color stain I need to grab to finish up the rafters.
What the fuck am I doing?
I can’t have a thing for Sara.I can’t!She’s only a few years older than my daughter, she’s engaged to be married, and she’s got a whole life she’s trying to figure out. The last thing she needs is me and my asshole feelings interjecting another complication.
Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be a complication. Maybe it would be a relief. Maybe she’s feeling the same damn way, and I’d be saving her from a life with someone she clearly doesn’t belong with.
Keep dreaming, pal.
I toss the rag into the trash near the window and head back out into the cold and toward the hardware store a few shops down. Cold air is exactly what I need. It’ll snap me out of this bullshit and toss me back into reality where I belong.
Sara cuts my hair. That’s all this is. A friendly exchange. A barter. Her silky hair, her full round breasts, thick ass, and the way we connect is irrelevant. Whatever is or is not happening between her and Pete is none of my fucking business.
I drag in a breath, letting the freshness circulate through my lungs as I try to stop this runaway train from leaving the station.
It’s no use. The train is going faster, and before I’ve made it to the hardware store, my mind has jumped the tracks.
The only way for me to be sure she’s okay is to drive by her place a few times tonight and check. At this point, it’s my only option.
Chapter Three
Sara
Jasper lays his head against his pillow and stares up at me with big brown eyes. “I love you, Mommy.”
It’s moments like these that I live for. The quiet glow of Jasper’s bedside lamp, a bedtime story about mice with cookies, and my boy snuggled up tight telling me how much he loves me.
“I love you more, sweet boy.” I kiss his forehead gently and tuck the blankets up around his shoulders. “Are you going to sleep well tonight?”
He nods dramatically, his eyelids getting heavy. “Cowboys need their sleep so they can wrangle the herd!”
“That’s right! You have to be all rested to take care of your horses come morning.”
