Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
That wasn’t good enough.
He finally turned to me, which brought us very close, and I swallowed hard. He was so, so handsome. Hot and sexy and beautiful and charming and—
Duuuude. You’ve been down this road before.
Crap. But an encore of a harmless crush wasn’t too bad, was it? He’d never know.
“I can honestly say I’m happy,” he murmured. “All the while…of course I wish some things had turned out differently.”
I could think of one or two things.
“You haven’t dated much,” I pointed out. “Peter was a donkey ass, and that Dutch guy didn’t deserve you either.”
He chuckled silently before he sighed. “It’s not easy when you have a list of desires that goes beyond connecting with someone.”
“Amen, brother.” I faced the fire again. “Don’t tell Chris, but I like it here. A lot.”
“I know.” Ugh, he was smug again.
“Smug Doms are the worst.”
“Oh no,” he laughed. “Smug brats, however…”
Bullcrap!
He was totally wrong, but I was too comfy to argue.
One yawn set off another, and I sank into the serenity. I wasn’t sure I’d ever appreciated silence before. Unless I was overwhelmed, but even then, I tended to seek out some background noise to anchor myself to.
Did the storm count?
“I forgot how much I used to love listening to storms,” I mumbled, feeling a bit drowsy.
When I was little, I’d stay up if I knew a thunderstorm was on its way. As long as I knew I was safe, the bigger the better. I heard no thunder now, but the rain and the whipping winds were causing mayhem outside, and that had the same effect.
“Mm. Me too. The thunderstorms in the summer…”
“I know, right? My favorite.”
He yawned. “I’ll sit on the porch all night and just watch the lightning strike around me.”
I assumed he was talking about his porch back home, ’cause his ranch was surrounded by fields, and nothing obstructed his view.
I could picture him there, on his wraparound porch, maybe a beer in his hand, his dogs resting by his feet.
“I wanna visit more, Wade,” I admitted.
He pressed a quick kiss to the top of my head, something he’d never, ever done before, and it shook off every cobweb of sleep.
“Music to my ears,” he said.
I swallowed. Was this normal?
I thought back on the years he’d comforted me in the past, and I remembered hugs and kindness and always his patience. Not kisses. Not sitting close like this. Never my head on his shoulder.
Aw, fuck. This wasn’t good. This type of behavior from him—rather, him accepting my closeness—would give me stupid ideas. And my crush would lose the “less” in harmless.
There was no way he’d ever be interested in me. He viewed me as a baby brother. He was protective of me in a brotherly way, and he undoubtedly thought I was too young.
The few times he’d brought someone home, it’d been men near his age.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He stretched next to me. “We should get some sleep. We’ll have plenty of time to wait out the storm tomorrow.”
Double fuck. I was gonna sleep out here all alone?
Gulp.
“How long is it supposed to last?” I asked.
He grunted as he rose to his feet, and I had to get with the program. I straightened in my seat, having lost my pillow.
“A couple of days, last I heard,” he replied. “If I can wait you out for three days, I can wait out a storm too.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I wasn’t worried about him in this scenario; I was worried about myself!
He glanced down at me, as if sensing something was wrong. “You sure you don’t wanna take the bedroom?”
I nodded. That wasn’t the problem. “Um, yeah, but can you leave the door open?”
I may have loved storms as a kid, but I’d never loved being alone.
“Sure.” He frowned a little. “You want me to wait here till you’re asleep?”
A thousand times yes, and if I told him that, he’d think I was a weak loser.
“No, it’s okay,” I lied. It was best to throw in some humor too. “I just want easy access to shelter if a tree falls over this part of the cabin.”
It sort of worked. The worry crease in his forehead faded, and his lips twisted slightly.
It was settled. He went to get ready for bed, and I heard him brushing his teeth in the bathroom. Meanwhile, I left liver snaps on the floor, closer to where I’d sleep, in hopes of the dogs moving over to me for snuggles.
I changed into jammies too, flannel bottoms and a T-shirt, but, um, maybe I dug out that particular tee because it had “Best Stuffie Ever” printed on it. Except, I totally chickened out and buried myself in blankets before Wade reemerged to see the design.
Wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs, he poured himself a glass of water in the kitchen and took his PrEP. I didn’t know what kind he was on, but I’d opted for the twice-a-year shots because I always forgot to take pills. Both Dad and Wade were preachy about safety, and I’d sworn up and down that I wasn’t part of the new generation that skipped out on rubbers.