Or we’d—fuck.
I scrub a hand over my face.
“Don’t go there,” I mutter under my breath.
Because that road leads straight into something I’m not ready to deal with.
Not yet.
She tells me to shower first.
I don’t argue.
Because if I stay in this room with her too long, smelling like dust and sweat and everything we used to be?
I’m going to lose control.
And I already came too damn close yesterday.
I replay it again in my mind.
Yesterday morning.
Esme in my bathroom, barely dressed, hands on me, looking at me like I’m the answer to all her prayers.
Goddamn straight that was a close fucking call.
And this?
This is worse.
Because now we’re alone.
No interruptions.
No ranch.
No people.
Just us.
And everything we haven’t resolved.
I take the fastest shower of my life.
Cold water.
In. Out.
Done.
By the time I step back into the room, dressed in jeans and nothing else, I can feel her eyes on me.
Feel them like a touch.
Like she’s taking me in the same way I’ve been trying not to take her in.
I don’t say much.
