Page 62 of Cowboy SEAL Christmas

If Gabe was stupid enough to think this could go somewhere, he would be the second-class citizen. Yet again. Colin would always be first.

Which was right and good. It amazed him there was a mother out there like that. He hadn’t believed it.

Gabe couldn’t live that kind of life again, second fiddle to everyone else. It broke too many things, and he couldn’t bring himself to pretzel into a million pieces trying to fill those cracks only to lose. He would always lose.

Gabe forced himself away from Colin’s bedroom and found the bathroom. He got rid of the condom, trying not to dwell on the sex any more than he had just dwelled on idiot thoughts and what-ifs.

But the thoughts came at him anyway. How sex with Monica was somehow different than any other sex he’d had. He’d known on a kind of mental level that sex could be different. After all, there had to be some reason Alex and Becca wanted to be married to each other for the rest of their lives. Jack wanted to similarly shackle himself to Rose. Gabe understood there had to besomethingspecial about a relationship, even if he never wanted one.

But now he understood all that on a visceral level. Sex might be the same act regardless, but it didn’t involve the same feelings. It didn’t involve the same tangle of emotions afterward. When it was with someone you didn’t really care about, it was all transaction. You got what you wanted—and that was nice.

But it wasn’t likethis. It didn’t fulfill or light up the world. It didn’t infuse hope where hope had no business being.

Gabe caught his reflection in the mirror. He could see the panic in his own expression and knew he had to get a handle on it before he returned to Monica. This was supposed to be a casual thing. There were no other options beyond getting sex out of their systems.

Getting it out of his system was never actually going to happen. She’d gone on about how they’d already kissed and how could the wondering be worse than the doing.

Oh. It was worse. So much worse.

He had to get a handle on his shit. There was no way he was going to let her see what a mess he was. How this had worked through him and changed him somehow. He felt like a different man. He didn’t like this new man. He wanted nothing to do with this vulnerable sad sack.

He looked away from the mirror and mechanically turned off the light. He counted the steps from the bathroom back to the living room, finding a center in the numbers.

She was snuggled under those ridiculous gingerbread man sheets, her hair a tangled mess, golden and youthful. She had this self-satisfied smile on her face that unwound all of the crazy emotions inside of him.

At least until she aimed it at him.

“I should probably go.” It sounded overloud in the quiet room, even with the crackling of the fire and the faint sounds of Christmas music still playing. “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”

He grimaced.

She didn’t say anything to his proclamation. In fact, nothing about her changed exactly. She was lying there still.

He felt as though he needed to defend himself against something, which was stupid because he should go. That was the deal. Sex. Not sleeping together. “They’re going to ask where I was if I don’t get back tonight. You didn’t want anyone knowing about this.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said slowly, carefully.

What the hell was she being careful about? He didn’t want to know. “So, I should go.” He moved stiffly for his clothes. She just lay there, watching him, and he didn’t know what to say, so he got dressed. Avoiding eye contact.

Like a pussy.

“This was fun,” he offered. Lamely.

“It was fun.” She moved up onto her elbows. “We should, uh, do it again. You know, before Christmas. Just to ensure we do the things we, uh, didn’t get to.”

This side of her, unsure but braving through things anyway, utterly undid him. He found her completely irresistible even in the midst of his own slight break with sanity.

“Well, you’ve got me curious. What kind of things?”

She raised that chin as primly as a woman wrapped up in gingerbread men could be. “You know what kind of things far better than I do.”

“You sound like you have a few ideas in your head of other things we could do.”

She tried to scowl at him, but it failed, curving up at the edges. That always undid him too, little glimpses at her humor.

Every single cell in his body wanted to shuck his clothes and get back in that bed and do all those things tonight, all night long. He couldn’t imagine that being good for either of them. He had to go.

“How about tomorrow night?”

---