I blink. "What?"
"This. I can't. It's too soon. I'm sorry." She's already fumbling with the lock, her hands shaking.
"Wait, hold on." I reach for her, but she's already got the stall door open. "Did I do something wrong?"
But she doesn't answer. She just rushes out of the bathroom, and I'm left standing there with my cock harder than it's ever been in my life and my fingers still wet from her pussy.
What the fuck just happened?
I take a second to breathe and adjust myself. Fuck, I'm going to have the worst case of blue balls, but I follow her out. The hallway is empty. The bar is still crowded, but I scan the room and don't see her anywhere.
She's gone.
I head for the front door, pushing through the crowd, and step out into the cool Montana night. I look left, then right, and catch a glimpse of her halfway down the block, practically running in the opposite direction.
Every instinct tells me to go after her. To catch up, to ask what happened, to get her number or her name or something. But I don't. Because she clearly doesn't want me to follow. Because she said she can't do this and that's a boundary I'm not going to cross, no matter how hard my dick is arguing otherwise.
I'm not that guy. I might be a player, might enjoy my share of one-night stands, but I respect a no. Always have, always will.
Still, I watch until she disappears around a corner, and I can't help but wonder who the hell she is. This curvy girl with the amber eyes and the soaked pussy who just showed up out of nowhere and took me completely by surprise.
I've never had a woman walk away before. Not like this. Not when we were both so clearly into it.
And I've definitely never had a woman leave me wanting more.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to calm down, trying to think about anything other than the way she felt wrapped around my fingers. The way she tasted. The way she moaned.
"Fuck," I mutter to the empty street.
Behind me, the bar is still going, music and laughter spilling out into the night. I should go back inside. Should find another girl, finish what I started, get this desperate need out of my system.
But I don't want another girl.
I want her. The mystery woman who ran away. The one I don't even have a name for. And that's a problem. Because I don't do wanting. I don't do chasing. I sure as hell don't do complicated.
But as I stand there on the sidewalk with my cock still throbbing and her scent still on my fingers, I can't stop thinking that maybe, just maybe, I want to.
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to Promise Ranch still pissed off, disappointed, and so fucking hard I can barely think straight.
The ranch is quiet at this hour. Just the main house lit up and a few scattered lights in the cottages where my brothers live. I park my truck near the barn and sit there for a minute, trying to get myself under control before I go inside.
It doesn't work. My cock is still throbbing, still aching, still demanding attention that I didn't get to give it. Every time I shift in my seat, the friction against my jeans makes me grit my teeth.
Fuck.
I finally force myself out of the truck and head toward the main house. Maybe I can grab a beer, cool down, and deal with this situation in the privacy of my own cottage. The last thing I need is—
"Well, well, well. Look who's home early."
Goddammit.
Boone is in the kitchen, standing at the counter with what looks like leftover pie and a glass of milk. My older brother, the responsible one, the one who actually believes in love and all that romantic bullshit. He's wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, his hair messy like he was already in bed.
"Don't start," I mutter, heading straight for the fridge.
But Boone's eyes drop to my crotch, and his eyebrows shoot up. "Holy shit. Did you seriously come home with—" He starts laughing. Actually laughing. "Did a woman leave you like that?"
"Fuck off," I snap, grabbing a beer and twisting the cap off hard enough that it goes flying.
