Page 8 of Spur of the Moment
It slowly swung open a few inches, and Lettie tilted her chin back to look up at me. “May I come in?”
She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “It depends.”
The corner of my mouth lifted slightly. “On?”
“Are you going to ask how my date went?”
“Why would I care about how your date went?” I asked innocently.
“So you’re telling me that you and Reed weren’t waiting for me to get home just now?”
“Nope.” She was pinning me with those baby blues, making it so fucking hard to lie to her.
“You guys are always out doing stuff on the ranch when you hang out. You really think I believe that?”
I shrugged, adjusting my grip on the doorframe to lean down a bit closer to her. “Now why would I lie to you, Huckleberry?”
She rolled her eyes. The nickname got her to break every time. “Fine. You can come in.”
I smiled, dropping my hand from the door frame and walking past her. She closed her door, which she only ever did with me. Any other guy and she’d keep it cracked.
I walked over to her dresser, noticing the lack of dust on the surface, and eyed the photo of her and Brandy on their horses. “So how was your date?”
“Bailey Cooper!” she squeaked.
I couldn’t help the smirk on my face as I turned to face her. “Call a guy curious.”
“I don’t need you meddling in my relationships,” she huffed.
I arched my brow. “Is it a relationship, though?”
She pursed her lips, plopping herself on the edge of her bed. After a moment of trying to keep up her hard exterior, she broke, looking down at her hands tangled together in her lap. “No,” she admitted softly.
She’d changed after she got home and was now wearing pink shorts and an oversized t-shirt, which covered the shorts. The shirt stopped mid-thigh, exposing her long, tan legs down to her bare feet.
Forcing my eyes to stop trailing down her body, I sat down next to her on the edge of the bed, our shoulders touching. “You want to talk about it?”
“No,” she said through a sniffle.
“Alright.” I laid back on her white comforter, grabbing her pillow and setting it behind my head.
“That’s my pillow!” She grabbed it from me, my head plopping to the blanket.
“I was using that,” I pointed out.
She set the pillow right above my stomach, laying her head on it. I resisted the urge to stroke her hair or rest my hand on her arm.
After a few moments of listening to her breathing, she said, “He didn’t want to be in a relationship with me.”
My eyes stayed trained on the ceiling, which was basked in an orange glow from the sun setting outside her bedroom window. The entire room was the color of a flame as day slowly turned to night.
“Lettie?” I said after a few minutes.
“Yeah?”
“He doesn’t deserve you. You know that, right?”
She gave a poor attempt at a shrug with her current position. “Will anyone deserve me in your eyes?”
