And right into heartache.
All over again.
Chapter 7-Benji
Yesterday morning—Esme standing in my bathroom with next to nothing on, touching me like she never forgot how, that look in her eyes like I was already hers—yeah, that was a close fucking call.
I know where this ends if I let it, but I need the truth first. Need to know we’re not walking into the same damn fire again.
Hence, the road trip.
We’re sitting in the truck with about half a million dollars’ worth of bull spunk in the back.
Yeah. That’s my life now.
Cryogenic chamber humming steady behind us, holding carefully cataloged semen straws from some of the best damn genetics we’ve built at Jersey Iron Ranch.
It’s secured, temperature locked, monitored through Micah’s system like it’s Fort Knox on wheels.
Because it kind of is.
This run matters.
Every run matters.
But this one?
This one’s got more riding on it than usual.
I grip the wheel a little tighter as we roll down the long stretch of road cutting away from the ranch, dust kicking up behind us in a thick cloud.
Beside me—she shifts.
Esme.
And yeah, that still feels strange as hell.
Having her here.
In my truck.
In my space.
Still smelling sweet and desirable as ever.
Like cinnamon apples and vanilla.
She’s close. Close enough that if I reach out—if I even stretch my leg out a bit—I could touch her.
I don’t.
But I think about it.
Too damn much.
Behind us, Alex is sitting in the backseat, headphones on, staring down at his phone like his life depends on it.
Good. I’d hate to have to deck him.
