THIRTY-FOUR
Sixty-seven, sixty-eight . . .
Foster counted in his head as he lowered back down to the floor for another push-up. Sweat slid down his neck and bare back as he repeated the motion again and again. The numbers ticked off in his head as he breathed through the count. A flash of Cela tied up in the garden came to him. Fuck.
Seventy-three.
That night she had counted aloud for him, her tawny skin glistening with the exertion of receiving the stings of his crop. But she’d been counting down. Not up. Not like he was doing. This had nothing to do with that day. His cock stirred. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Eighty.
He lifted one foot off the ground, trying to increase the difficulty of the push-ups and block out any thoughts of her. Music blared in the background, his new neighbor probably hating him already for all the noise.
Eighty-one.
She’d wanted to come so bad that night, she’d fallen to her knees and would’ve begged him for it, would’ve given him those doe eyes and pleaded. He’d wanted to break his plans that night. He’d wanted to spread her right out in that bed of flowers and fuck her until everyone inside the restaurant heard her scream. He gritted his teeth as his cock went from intrigued to full, throbbing hard-on.
Refusing to relent, he pushed through to hit one hundred. Afterward, he rolled onto his back, his stomach rising and falling with exertion, but the ache in his dick not relenting. He tucked his hands behind his head and with a locked jaw, started a round of sit-ups. He would not fucking give himself the satisfaction of thinking about her and jerking off. If he wanted to get laid, he could damn well go find a willing partner.
But he knew it was an idle notion. He wouldn’t do it. He’d gotten in his car to drive to The Ranch more than once since Cela had left, and he hadn’t been able to put the key in the ignition. He was in fucking love. Love!
A goddamn disaster considering that the object of those affections was currently hundreds of miles away, happily moving on with her life. She didn’t want what he had to offer. And as much as he cared about her, he couldn’t give her what she was seeking. If she wanted a traditional, vanilla relationship, he couldn’t be that for her. It’d be like asking a gay man to go straight. His dominance was part of him, and neither of them would be happy if he tried to shut that part of himself off.
Six. Seven.
His hair was damp, falling in his eyes as he did more crunches. In his direct line of sight was the bed he’d bought for her. And of course, now every time he looked at it, he saw her there, kneeling on the white covers, knees parted, head tilted back as she touched herself for him.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
He rolled up off the floor and stalked into his bathroom, turning on the shower. He grabbed an empty cup and filled it with water from the sink, gulping it down as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like a crazed version of himself. His face and chest were shiny with sweat, his cheeks flushed, and his dick hard.
He tugged off his shorts and stepped into the shower. The water hadn’t fully warmed yet and it hit his skin with a shock. But even the chill wasn’t going to vanquish the driving need demanding his attention. His erection was still hard as steel. Fuck it. He grabbed the soap from the holder on the wall and slicked his hand. Might as well get over the inevitable. He was past the point of being able to will the thoughts away. He braced an arm against the shower wall and pressed his forehead against it. His other hand grasped his cock with a rough, almost angry grip. He’d never had the chance to take Cela in the shower, and he let his mind go there now—water dripping over her curves, that dark hair curling and clinging to her shoulders, the swells of her ass tucked against him as he slid into her from behind.
His fist moved along his cock, imagining her heat and the sweet sounds she made when they made love. Yes, love. He’d tried to convince himself it had been something else, but from the very beginning, it’d been different with her. Sweeter. More intense. More important.
He angled away from the water, letting it only hit his back and tightened his grip as he fisted his shaft. The pad of his thumb moved over the head, swiping at the pre-come glistening there. If she were here, he’d bring his thumb to her mouth and watch her suck his taste from his skin. She was such a vixen when she let go, let her inhibitions fall away. He’d hoped she’d be the one, the girl he could cherish and pamper but who would also crave playing on the edge with him, the one who would give herself into his keeping and care.
He could imagine her giving him hell with that smart mouth, then dropping to her knees and bringing him to his. That soft, yielding look in her eyes, that giving, plush mouth.
With that image, every muscle in his body seemed to tighten and pleasure raced down his spine. God, Cela. Hot streams of his release splashed against the tile and coated his fist as he pumped into his hand, riding the last wave of orgasm.
After a few more ragged breaths, he rinsed, turning the water to searing hot, then toweled off. Too exhausted to even bother digging through the basket of clean laundry for boxers, he headed to bed and got in naked. As he reached to turn off his lamp, he noticed the light on his phone indicating new emails. “Fuck ’em, they can wait ’til morning.”
But after he clicked off the light and tried to close his eyes, he couldn’t help himself. What was it about new email that was so hard to ignore? It couldn’t be anything good. Just more work. But he found himself reaching for the damned phone anyway. He unlocked the screen, noticing the new email was to his personal account, not his work one. Odd. He rarely used that account.
He opened up the screen, frowning at the subject line. Your Home Safe purchase has been activated. What in the hell? It was the standard auto-send email customers received when they activated one of their products. Why the hell would he be getting that in his personal . . .
He sat up.
Quickly, he tapped to open the full email and scrolled down. Your Home Safe anklet was activated at 9:34pm CST in Verde Pass, TX.
He stared down at the screen, something like hope growing in his chest, snaking through him like a vine. Cela had kept his bracelet. And the only way to activate was to open it and close it. Had she put it on?
Weeks had passed since she’d left. He’d texted her that first night under the guise of being Pike, and she’d made it rather clear that she was staying and moving on. What would make her pull out his gift now?
Unless . . .
Unless she was thinking about him.
He flipped the covers off and got out of bed, heading straight toward the living room. Pike was laid out on the couch playing some video game while Monty dozed at his feet. He looked over when Foster strode in.
“Dude, what the fuck?” He put his hand out as if to shield himself. “You’re going to traumatize Monty.”
Foster glanced down, realizing he’d walked out naked. But at the moment, he could give a shit. “I need your help.”
Pike smirked. “Man, I’m flattered, and I know you’re hard up, but I’m really not into you that way.”
Foster wished he had something to throw at him. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and tied it around his hips. “Would you shut the fuck up and listen?”
“All ears.”
“I need your car for a few days.”
He paused his game. “Do what?”
“I can’t sit around anymore. I need to know if she’s happy. I need to know if there’s still a chance.”
Pike’s questioning look morphed into a sly, victorious smile. “’Bout damn time. But what exactly would you need my car for?”
He shrugged. “I’m not going to bust into her life and shake things up if she really is doing well and is happy there. I don’t want to cause her more hurt. So I’m going to do a little recon first and I need her not to recognize my car. I’d get a rental, but I want to leave first thing in the morning.”
Pike sat up at that. “Hold up. You’re going to spy on her? You really are the crazy, stalker ex-boyfriend.”
“Maybe I am.”
He grinned. “For the record, I kind of like this crazed, in-love version of you. Way more fun. Just don’t fuck things up this time.”
“Well, that’s not the plan.”
“How are you going to find her? I mean, small town or not, it’s still a whole town.”
Foster walked over to the coffee table and swiped Pike’s keys. “You don’t want to know.”
“Ah, hell.”
Foster headed back toward his bedroom, but not before he heard Pike mutter, “Yeah, he’s going to fuck it up.”
—
I sat at the small, scarred table sipping my drink and enjoying the band who was playing at the Rusty Wheel tonight. I’d never been a huge fan of country music, but the acoustic set had a certain charm. And Michael seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it, singing along to the music and sending me a smile every now and again from beneath the brim of the cowboy hat he’d worn tonight. He had a nice voice. I’d never noticed that about him. It was probably very soothing to his patients when he was yanking teeth out and such.
This was the third time I’d been out with him this week, and each time it’d gotten more and more comfortable. He didn’t make my stomach flip over when he looked at me, but he was fun. And it sure was better than being mopey girl in my house. When antidepressant commercials start to look upbeat, it’s time to get out.
Michael leaned over, draping his arm over the back of my chair, and spoke against my ear. “Dance with me?”
“I’m not very good at the two-step,” I said, cocking my head toward the other couples out on the floor.
“Just follow my lead. You can do that, right?” he asked with a good-natured wink.
I smirked. Oh, if he only knew. “Sure.”
I let him take my hand and lead me onto the dance floor. With a smile of encouragement, he pulled me close, his hand at my back, and guided me into the flow, counting the steps for me. “Quick, quick, slow.”
He was a confident dancer and easy to follow, so I kept up pretty well. We moved around the floor, keeping the circle pattern that everyone seemed to be following, and I found myself enjoying it. Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow. Apparently he thought I was catching on quicker than I actually was though, because he moved to try to spin me. Not expecting the changeup, I missed the cue and turned the wrong way, almost twisting his arm out of its socket in the process. He let go of my hand and my momentum carried me into the next couple.
Michael barely rescued me before I took us all down. I grabbed for his arm, half-panicked, half laughing. He dragged me against him, laughing as well, eyes sparkling. “Whoa, there.”
“Sorry,” I said, hands still curled into his biceps as he moved me out of the flow of dancers and off to the side. “Awkward girl plus beer. Bad combination.”
“No need to apologize. I like awkward. And sloshed is just a bonus.”
I snorted. But he pushed my hair behind my ear, looking down at me with a smile that went from humor to something else. And I knew that look. I didn’t have a ton of experience, but no one could mistake what his intention was or what was about to happen. I opened my mouth to say something, but it was already past the point of no return.
Michael leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, cradling my head in his hands, and kissing me with a tender reverence I didn’t deserve. I was frozen for a moment, unsure what to do or how to react. But my mouth moved on its own accord, answering the kiss, even as my mind was spinning in every direction. He tasted like beer and peanuts and faintly of mouthwash. And none of what he was doing was bad, but it was all . . . wrong.
My hands slid up to his chest and pushed gently. Instantly, he eased back from the kiss, respecting my subtle signal. He gave me a sheepish smile. “Sorry, probably too soon, right? I lost myself there for a moment.”
“It’s okay,” I said, looking down, a sadness eating away at my insides. “I’m just . . . not quite ready for that yet.”
Or maybe ever. Not if it felt like that. Maybe I hadn’t been overreacting when I thought I’d never experience anything like Foster again. I craved the fire that happened every time we’d touched, that must-have-more passion. Maybe it could grow with Michael. Maybe I needed to give it time, give us both a chance.
“Hey, there’s no rush or pressure from me, all right?” he said, taking my hand again. “I’m not on some predetermined timeline.”
“Thank you.” He led me back to our table and ordered another round of drinks, but my heart wasn’t in the music anymore. Or the date. After a few minutes, Michael seemed to be just as content as before—not perturbed or offended by my brush-off. He really was a good guy. I glanced at my cell phone to check the time and made a show of yawning.
“Getting tired on me?” he asked, bumping my knee with his.
“Yeah, I had a surgery first thing this morning and another tomorrow. Mind if I call it a night?”
“Nah, not at all,” he said, moving to get up.
I put my hand on his arm. “You’re fine. Stay. I know you have tomorrow off and that you love this band. My car is right out front.”
“You sure?” He frowned. “Are you okay to drive?”
“Yeah, I’m not that much of a lightweight.” I offered a smile and gave him a quick hug, thanking him for the night.
Outside, the summer air was muggy and warm, heavy with an oncoming rainstorm. But it was nice to get out of the smoky honky-tonk. The parking lot lights were blinking on and off with a loud buzz, giving the lot a strobe effect, but the moonlight was enough to help me find my car.
I put my hand into my purse to grab my keys and heard the shift of gravel somewhere behind me. I turned my head, on full alert. Verde Pass wasn’t exactly the crime capital of the world, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think bad things didn’t happen here. I didn’t see anything behind me, and I turned back around, rubbing the sudden chill off my arms. I had the sense that I wasn’t alone, that I was being watched. But a second later, the front door of the Rusty Wheel swung open, and a loud, rowdy group spilled out, instantly lifting that strange feeling I’d gotten. Quickly, I hit the fob to open my car and climbed inside, thinking in the back of my mind how Foster would’ve never let me walk out into a parking lot like this alone.
He wouldn’t have let me dismiss him so easily like I had Michael. It wasn’t fair for me to hold that against Mike. I had wanted him to stay behind, but still, the thought niggled at me like a rock in my shoe. I didn’t need to be taken care of. I was completely capable of managing things myself. But I couldn’t deny that part of me missed being . . . handled.
Foster had made me feel like I was something precious, something to be guarded.
Part of the time that had driven me mad.
But right now, as I drove home in the dark, still wearing that stupid ankle bracelet because I couldn’t bring myself to take it off, I felt . . . adrift.