The hush of the quiet night stretches between us.
“How’s the job hunt going?” His unwavering gaze never leaves mine. I’m not dumb enough to think he doesn’t know how it’s going. I’d tell him if anything came of it and me never bringing it up is a dead giveaway.
“It’s going.” I refuse to be all woe is me about it.
“I think we need to go out. Be seen together more. We kinda hide out at the bar and at our house.”
Our house startles me.
“It’s not enough. We need to sell it.”
“But you’ll win the bet if I don’t get a job.”
“What bet?”
My eyes roll. “The one where you bet me that being associated with you wouldn’t help me get a new job. You knew then I was a lost cause. It’s looking like you were right.”
“I don’t remember that.”
His intentional ignorance irritates me, and my hands swish through the water, pushing a wave of it at him. “The bet? The deal? The fake engagement? The we’re not having sex? I’ll take you to a hospital if you keep floating there, pretending you don’t remember.”
“I remember it differently. I remember thinking that you didn’t need my name or my association to get a job because you were smart and capable and qualified on your own. I remember thinking there’s no way people would hold your family name against you that thoroughly. Now I know that this town is a lost cause and you’re too good for it.”
My chest goes tight, and a prickling sensation takes root beneath my eyelids. No one has ever said anything like that to me.
Ever.
I clear my throat. “Okay, well, be that as it may, you must still want to win the bet.”
He waves me off casually, even though the words he says next feel anything but casual. “I’ve never wanted to lose a bet so badly in my life. Is it even a bet, Bailey? What were the terms? What did I get if I won?”
I blink, trying to think back. Was there really nothing in this for him? That couldn’t be.
“Well, you said you wanted your family off your back.”
He laughs wryly, looking away as his big, strong hand combs through his wet hair. “They’re gonna be right back up in my shit the minute you break up with me. Possibly worse, actually.”
Panic surges in me, and where I was borderline cold, I’m suddenly very, very hot. “So this is just … a pity arrangement?”
“No, Bailey. It’s not that.” His voice went from cool and collected to rough gravel with a hint of steel.
“What is it then? You playing hero with my life?”
“I’m here because I want to be.”
My head shakes. “There isn’t even sex in this for you. You made it clear you didn’t want any more of that, so—”
He cuts me off. “I wanted more.”
My heart goes from thudding loudly, drowning out all other sounds, to still and silent. “What?”
“You shouldn’t lose your virginity during a bet. I don’t want that for you.”
“I thought it wasn’t a bet.”
His jaw works. “It’s a glorified bet.”
“If you hadn’t known I was a virgin, would you have fucked me?”
He fidgets now, hand scrubbing at his beard as he groans. “Jesus, Bailey.”
“Would you?”
He looks away, down river, before turning back to me. Slowly. There’s a sudden predatory vibe in the way he carries himself, in the way he moves. “Thoroughly.”
Maybe I should be flattered, but I’m not. I’m irritated.
With a disbelieving scoff, I move toward the shore, trying to hide my offense that a man I barely know is telling me what I should and shouldn’t do with my body.
“Well, I broke my hymen with a toy some time ago. So I’m not sure what’s so sacred to you. It’s my virginity. Feel free to take that benchmark of mine off of your pedestal anytime now.”
I reach down, grabbing my clothes, barely taking the time to wrap myself in a towel before sliding my feet back into my sandals.
“Bailey—”
I don’t want to hear from him right now. I want him to be as uncomfortable as I am, so I guess that’s why I toss back, “Besides, if you weren’t so lacking in creativity, you’d know there’s lots we can do that isn’t sex.”
Then I leave him there without taking a single glance back.
21
Beau
Beau: You at home?
Bailey: Yes.
Beau: What are you doing?
Bailey: Edging.
Bailey: FML. I am EDITING.
Bailey: My resume. Polishing it up. Changing a few things.
Beau: We really just going to skip over the edging part?
Bailey: Yes. It was an autocorrect.
Beau: Why does your phone assume you mean edging though?
Bailey: Guess my phone knows you.
“What is that?” Bailey points at the shiny black and chrome Harley I just pulled up on.
I bought it to give myself something to do that isn’t holding my dick while thinking about you.
I don’t say that, though. Instead, I say, “My new motorcycle,” like the Neanderthal I am around her.
“But why?” She lifts her sunglasses off her eyes, pushing them back on her head. I know what she looks like, but I study the movement. She’s painted her nails a pretty peach color that pops against the tan tone of her skin. Her lips glisten with gloss, and a bead of sweat trails down her chest, right between her breasts. The ones propped up in a creamy orange triangle bikini top.
I assume she’s wearing matching bottoms, but I refuse to let my eyes trail that far down.
Today I’m in control. I won’t ogle the twenty-two-year-old propped on a lounger, sunbathing on my back deck.
“Because I wanted to.”
“Is this a thing you’ve always wanted?”
My head quirks as I rip off my helmet. “No. Does it need to be?”
Her gaze peruses me all the way down and then all the way back up. She’s blatant. And it makes me wonder why I keep thinking of Bailey as innocent or treating her like she’s made of glass.
The girl flat out told me we could do things that aren’t sex, like I didn’t know that was an option.
But I’ve always known it was. And I’ve always known it wouldn’t be enough.
She crosses her legs tightly and glances away. “Just seems kind of unsafe.”
I take a couple of steps closer to my back deck, even though I dread coming that close to her.
Proximity to Bailey has an intoxicating effect.
“We could all die tomorrow, Bailey. Gotta do what makes us happy today.”
Now her gaze is back on me, and her brow rises. She’s silently rubbing my face in what we talked about just last night.
Would you have fucked me? She threw the words at me like weapons, didn’t lower her volume or dance around the subject.
I glare at her until her plush lips tip up in a knowing smirk. She lowers her sunglasses and settles back in her lounger as though dismissing me. “If I didn’t know you were a total stick in the mud, I’d say your new personality trait is impulsiveness.”
I puff up with a bit of defensiveness at that. After years of special forces training, my impulse control is something I pride myself on.
You can’t be impulsive on missions. It’ll get you killed.
Or stranded.
I shove that thought away as quickly as it springs to life. “I am not impulsive,” I mutter and glance at the creek, wondering if I should grab my fishing gear and head out for the afternoon. It’s Saturday after all. Normal people do things like going fishing on Saturdays.
“Could have fooled me.” She glides a palm over the length of her slender arm, as though rubbing more sunscreen in.
“Bailey.” I sigh out her name. In a lot of ways, I appreciate her candor. In a lot of ways, she tests my patience.
“You decide to pick up a short-lived drinking habit at my bar.” She holds her hand up, lifting her fingers as she prepares to list all the ways I am out of control. “You look for fights in said bar.”
“I don’t—”