Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

I’m still in love with you. I can’t do casual with you. I’ll always want more than you’re interested in offering a guy like me. Watching you walk away again might break me.

“Pleeeease.” Her lips graze the side of my neck. It feels so damn good, and I want what she’s offering—to lose myself in sex, to feel her in my arms again. Not to be alone.

When her mouth skims over mine, I can taste the satisfaction in her smile, a sweet shot that could chase away my bitterness. If I let it.

I hate myself for being so damn tempted, and even more for giving in to temptation so many times. I’m an idiot, and the fact that she thinks we’ll be hooking up again tonight is all my fault.

I pull my mouth away from hers and put space between us in the booth. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m happy for you and I’m glad single life is all you dreamed it would be, but I’m not interested in being your standby fuck.”

“But just one more time,” she says, leaning closer.

“No.” Standing, I shove my hands in my pockets, because I don’t trust them not to reach for her. “I can’t do this anymore. We want different things, and every time I watch you walk away, it kills something inside me.”

Her lusty expression falls away and is replaced by annoyance. “I’ve never lied to you about what I want.”

I shrug. “Maybe. But it’s time for me to stop lying to myself.”

Chapter Three

Dean

“You look like hell. If you’re here for booze, you need to go somewhere else.”

I glare at Smithy. First, it’s Friday night and this is a fucking bar. Drinks are literally the reason people come here. Second, he’s denying me a drink before I even get started, and that’s just insulting. “Wanna tell me what this is about?”

He folds his arms on the bar top and lowers himself until we’re eye to eye. “It’s about you finding your way home with a certain toxic ex every time you drink in my bar. I’ve made an executive decision not to be part of that.”

I don’t bother denying it, nor do I bother explaining that half the reason I look as shitty as I do right now is because I’ve spent the whole damn week trying not to text her, trying not to crawl back for scraps again. “She’s not toxic,” I say, sliding onto the barstool despite his dickish behavior. Maybe I should go somewhere else.

“Can’t tell by looking at you. How about some dinner?” he asks, brow arched. “Unless you can tell me the last time you ate solid food—and protein bars don’t count.”

I roll my eyes. “Dinner would be great, Smith. Thanks so much. Do I get to order, or would you like to continue treating me like a child and pick out my meal for me?”

“Oh, I’m fucking picking it.” He pours me a glass of water. “But you can choose what dressing you want on your side salad.”

My stomach churns at the idea of eating a salad, but I mutter, “House,” as he plops the tall glass in front of me.

Smithy’s right. I’m a fucking train wreck. I started my day with a protein bar because I was too exhausted and hungover to consider anything more substantial. Instead of taking the day off and getting my life together, I put in a twelve-hour day. Lately, I’ve been donning my toolbelt and using manual labor to get my mind off my heartache, even though Kace and I haven’t had to work in the field for years. Which is pretty much every day. I met the crew at the lakeside house at seven a.m. and worked until long after everyone else had clocked out for the day, losing myself in the monotony of drywalling. The only time I took a break was at lunch, when I stopped for an hour to do my favorite five-mile loop through the park and down a protein shake and an apple—which is absolutely solid food, thankyouverymuch.

Now it’s nearly nine p.m., and I know if I go home, I’ll end up in bed with Amy again. Either she’ll show up, or I’ll text her and suggest something I know she can’t resist—like fucking me. Unfortunately, she absolutely can resist what I really want from her—a real relationship. Commitment. Love.

Smithy might be trying to save me from myself, but he doesn’t realize the only reason I’m here tonight is because I’m actually less likely to cave if I’m here than if I’m alone at home.

I drag a hand over my face and sigh before forcing myself to drain the glass of water.

Within minutes, Smithy’s back with my dinner. The dude must know I’ve been having stomach issues, because instead of bringing me my usual buffalo chicken sandwich, he brings me the chicken breast wrap. I might not have any appetite, but at least I can manage this. “How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?” Smithy asks.