Page 85 of Wild Love
West nudges his chin toward the office. “Let’s go have a coffee. I’ll catch you up on my day.”
My jaw pops, and I peek back over my shoulder. “Can’t. Rosie’s working in there. Just let me grab my wallet and we can take a trip into town. I need to grab some things anyway.”
“Yeah, cool,” is all he says as he turns back to the parking lot with a pleased swagger to his step.
I march back into the office to find Rosie sitting primly at her desk like nothing happened at all. Her eyes move from my face to beyond me, clearly checking for her brother.
“Did he leave?”
I nod and walk to my desk—the scene of the crime—and grab my wallet that’s still lying on top. “Yes. I’m going into town with him. I have… errands to run.”
“Oh,errands?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” When I look across the room at her, she holds her hand up and mimes jerking off while tilting her head at me.
Normally, I’d chuckle. But I feel guilty.
I don’t like running out on her after what just went down. But the truth is, the way my brain works, I need processing time. I need overthinking time. I need to get West away from her because what I really feel is obnoxiously territorial when it comes to her.
Rosie knows how I work. Understands me in a way I’m not sure anyone has before. She doesn’t try to stop me—she just giggles and continues pumping at an invisible dick as a way of teasing me.
And when I get to the door, she calls out to me smugly, “You still missed the spot, Junior. Guess you’ll have to try again sometime.”
I turn back and glare at her, all mussed and totally full of it. She knows exactly how to press on my competitive streak. “Sure, Rosie. That would be a hell of a lot more believable if I hadn’t just watched you come all over my desk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ROSIE
Ford doesn’t come back.
Some girls might take offense. But me? With him? I’m just amused.
The man might be able to find a clit with spine-tingling accuracy, but I’d be willing to bet he’s out there somewhere tugging on his hair and overthinking the hell out of things. It’s charming. Refreshing. I decide I’ll sit back and watch him freak out for a while. If what he said about me, about wanting me, is true, then I don’t need to pile on. If I know Ford—and annoyingly, I do—he’s driving himself crazy right now while trying look like he has it all together.
One thing I’ve always admired about him is his sense of integrity. He’s been a faithful friend to my brother, but also a faithful (if begrudging) friend to me in a lot of ways. He wouldn’t take muddying those waters lightly.
Despite his aloof exterior, he’s a worrier. And I don’twant to add to his worries. I just want… well, I want more orgasms on his desk.
So, at lunch, I head back to my shitty bunkhouse to make myself a sandwich and say hi to the mouse that I’m fairly certain has moved in with me. My mood is only buoyed by the fact my cramps have all but evaporated.
First, I change my panties. Then I pull out the turkey and bread. Once I make my sandwich, I toss a few crust pieces on the floor for the mouse, deciding I should pick a name for him, and then head down to my dock for lunch with a view.
I only get through about half when my phone rings from inside my purse. When I put my sandwich on my lap to answer, my turkey on rye falls into the lake. As it sinks, I stare at it sullenly.
Only at this time of the month could I cry over a lost sandwich. I just upended my life and mostly walked away with a smile. That night on the dock with Ford was the only time I cracked.
But that sandwich was really good. And I’m so hungry.
I don’t recognize the number on the screen. Wondering if it might be a contractor, I answer and try not to sound pissy.
“Hello?”
“Rosie?”
I look down at the screen again, brows furrowing. “Cora?”
