Stripped Down

Rory grabs the bottle back before I can drop it. “We ran out. I refilled. Tell me what happened to you.”

It’s usually me teasing the details out of Rory. The man has more hookups than anyone I’ve ever known. He claims it helps him forget. I need him to teach me how to do that.

“Angel and I hooked up.” Hooked up doesn’t feel like the right set of words to describe what happened. Now that I’ve been in Angel’s arms, I can’t lie to myself. I still want more. He’s different than any man I’ve met before. He gets to me, gets under my skin and makes me think he’s special when he’s actually just a really special brand of trouble. It doesn’t matter how real—or temporarily wonderful—what we shared felt.

I drop down onto the couch next to Rory and he tugs at the hem of my borrowed shirt. “New fashion style?”

I’ve lost more clothes today than airline.

“You’ve lost your clothes before,” I point out.

“And now we match.” Rory wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in tight. God. This in one of the reasons I love him so much. He knows what I need before I do. “I’m going out a limb,” he says roughly into my hair. “And I’m declaring that men stuck. You and I should stick to women from now on. We should probably keep our clothes on, too.”

Shit. Tears prick my eyes. “Good plan. Makes for a speedier exit, too.”

“Should I go over there and commit various felonies on the person of one Angel Mendoza?”

“I knew it couldn’t last.” I just have to get over him. Surely it can’t take longer than our brief hook up? Because that wouldn’t be fair at all.

“Did he hurt you?” Rory’s voice goes soft and lethal.

“The sex was amazing.” And I really need to stop thinking about it. Wondering where it—I—went wrong isn’t helping. We had fantastic sex. I fell asleep. Angel left. Those facts speak for themselves.

“Congratulations on getting your O-face on. Now answer the question.”

“He left while I was asleep.”

“Fucker.” Rory toasts me with the bottle and takes another drink. I consider the possibility that I’ll have to drive him to the nearest hospital—forty minutes away—for alcohol poisoning and decide against drinking with him.

“I can have sex.” Shit. Does that sound needy or desperate?

Rory understands, though. “Nothing stopping you, girlfriend, but when’s the last time you enjoyed it? And I mean really, really enjoyed it. The kind of enjoy where you’re screaming his name and you don’t care who walks in on you or where you are.”

I can’t remember. Solo action is so much more satisfying. “That makes me sound broken. I plead the fifth. Tell me about your night.”

“A swing and a miss. I should probably avoid the bunkhouse for a while.” Rory smiles, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sober enough to drive,” I point out, tugging the bottle away from him. He’s really, really had enough to drink. “We can fire this baby up and get the hell out of here. Go find people who deserve us.”

Rory settles back on the couch, pulling me with him. I settle my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek. “Maybe you won’t strike out your second time at bat.”

“I don’t think I have much of a future with Angel.” I wish I could say that cheerfully, but instead I sound more than a little sad.

“What happened to Mr. Your-Ass-Is-Mine-If-You-Come-Back? I thought possessive was the new black in his world.”

“He runs hot—and then cold.” I guess. I mean, the whole leaving while I was asleep thing seems pretty clear. “We had this great afternoon. We drove out to check on the cattle and we danced in the rain. He made me feel good.”

Good is such a weak word when the feelings Angel arouses in me are every bit as strong as the man himself.

“And now he’s made you feel like shit,” Rory points out.

“He’s got issues,” I say, although I have no idea why I’m coming to Angel’s defense. “He’s definitely worried about the water situation on the ranch.”

“He’s a big boy. He’ll handle it.” Rory is not pro-Angel. “If he’s who you want, however, I’ve got your back.”

Wow. Didn’t see that one coming.

“That’s a nice speech.”

“I mean it. I just think you can do better. He’s not nice. All this talk of claiming and making you his is dangerous. You don’t need a owner. You need a partner.”