Her smile fades, her eyes darkening thoughtfully as she cocks her head. She doesn’t say anything, just listening while I take a deep breath.
Fuck, I don’t want to ruin this quiet, but I feel like I can’t ruin it with honesty. We hope.
That’s what she makes me, at least. Honest and real.
“My brother and I, we’ve got bad blood. Some of it you know about; some of it you don’t,” I admit. “Still…didn’t give me the right to treat you like that.”
She’s just looking at me, but it’s not bad. A second later, her smile comes back, soft and just a little warmer. It’s like seeing the sun come up at night.
Ever since my dumb outburst the other night, that brightness was turned down, but now she’s ramped it up to eleven.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and I duck my head, clearing my throat. “But…”
“But nothing, lady. No use thanking me for apologizing like a decent human being.”
“But it wasn’t all bad, you going crazy.” She leans back in her chair, her face flushing, and it ain’t just the fire. “I’d almost think you were jealous.”
I shouldn’t say it.
I do anyway.
“What if I was?” I counter. “That’s Holt’s thing—moving in on what’s mine—and apparently he’s still stuck in high school. I let that shit get in my blood, and next thing you know, I’m practically banging my chest with both fists like you, Jane. You mine.”
She bursts out laughing at my silly Tarzan impression, then lifts her eyes to the stars again, her smile only growing. “There’s no contest, Blake. You don’t have any reason to be jealous.”
The humor fades. My eyes fix on her like a hunter’s. My blood goes molten.
Then she reaches out her hand, stretching over the warm glow of the embers in the fire pit, her fingers curled and palm inviting.
I don’t even hesitate.
My fingers twine with hers, wrapping up that small soft warmth in my hand.
Her smile only deepens.
So does that heady, possessive burn in my chest.
So does the ache below the beltline, the surefire knowledge that one fine day, I will mark this woman from the inside out. And when it happens, when we fuck, when we finally speak in flesh and heat and thundering moans, I’m not sure you mine will ever be a joke again.
Tracing my fingers over her skin, I try to behave as her hand gets hotter, almost fiery in mine.
Together, we watch the stars.
13
Rock and Roll Ain’t Easy (Peace)
This place shouldn’t feel so much like home.
It’s hard to remember it isn’t.
I haven’t really had a home in years.
My home is a burned-out van still going through a ton of body work and internal renovations at Mitch’s autobody shop.
I take my home with me like a snail shell wherever I go.
The dream of settling down died a long time ago, after Dad never came home and Mom closed off the way she did.
I made myself believe home was in my heart.
But maybe that’s why it’s so hard to shake this feeling. Blake’s house as home.
He’s digging his way deeper into my heart with every touch and snarly-faced glance. And the last two weeks I’ve spent crashing at his place isn’t doing anything to put the brakes on.
I get to see this man half-asleep in the morning with his hair sticking up everywhere and a faded old t-shirt clinging to his chest, his pajama pants threatening to fall off the beastly angles of his hips.
I get to see him taut and ready and rushing to work, slinging into his coveralls at the report of a campfire gone wild in a nearby RV park.
I get to see him tired at the end of the night—covered in grease and soot, shoulders heavy, but half the weight he carries is pride at a job well done.
I get to see him love Andrea.
I get to see him fight with her, too, even if she’s clearly trying to be on her best behavior with me around.
Doesn’t mean they aren’t oil and water.
No, let’s be honest, more like gas and flame.
Their fights are combustive, but I try to sit them out.
Except somehow, I always wind up helping, holding somebody’s hand until they feel better.
It’s only temporary, I tell myself.
I’m not the little woman here, no matter how many times I help around the house with breakfast and dinner and cleaning.
I can’t stay forever.
Blake can’t be responsible for me when Andrea’s his world.
And I can’t keep scaring him every time I refuse his offer to chaperone me, and head out to my clients’ cabins and houses for work.
I hadn’t expected to be as busy as I am in a town this small, honestly.
But there are a lot of seniors here. Arthritis and rheumatism everywhere. Things that flare up in winter in ways some medications just don’t help.
It’s not all people work, either.