Page 27 of Swallow Your Fear
He headed toward the door we’d come through.
“Wait.”
He paused with a hand on the knob, looking over at where I still sat on the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“Got a ranch to take care of, Darlin’.”
The words unspoken rang loud and clear. He’d paused that just to bring me in here. He could have easily let me walk inside on my own, shower in the hall bathroom, and take care of myself. But instead, he’d left his duties on the ranch for five minutes just for me—and I assumed he did it to show that he cared.
“Am I supposed to sleep in here?” I asked hesitantly.
“You can sleep wherever you want.”
But there was a reason he’d plopped me on his bed and not my own.
There was also a question behind his eyes, laced with worry. Like he thought I might choose Austin’s bed instead.
Without another word, he left, closing the door behind him.
I stayed on the bed another moment, letting the water have its time to warm up. The Booker I just witnessed was a night and day difference to the Booker I’d first met, and it’d only been a few days since our first interaction.
I’d thought I was a fool for allowing a man I’d just met to fuck me, and each time he walked away, I wanted to believe it was a mistake. That I wouldn’t do it again. And honestly, if he had done the same today, it was likely that Iwouldhave walked away. But the side of this man that just presented himself to me in a quietly caring way was the treatment I wanted after all the rough sex and manhandling.
I hated admitting that I liked both parts of him, however opposite they may be, but it was what I craved.
My only fear was that the pieces of Booker I’d met so far fit the idea of a dream man in my mind almost to a T.
“Halloween is, like, two weeks away,” McKenna said as she fixed her high ponytail.
I’d fallen asleep in Booker’s bed last night, and at some point while I slept, he’d crawled in beside me, pulling me onto his chest. He was gone by the time I woke, though, and when I left for work, the three of them were out of sight, presumably doing chores out on the ranch.
“Are you dressing up?” she asked, snapping me out of the phantom memory of his body pressed to mine.
I turned to her. “Dressing up for what?”
“Halloween,” she repeated. “Aren’t we going to the haunted house?”
Every year, for the week leading up to the holiday, they opened the doors to the infamous haunted house that sat at the top of the hill right outside of Whiskey Ridge. And every year since we were twelve, McKenna and I would go together on opening night.
“Yeah. Of course we are.”
As was the weather’s usual state in October, light raindrops fell from the gray sky, landing in puddles on the sidewalks outside. My shift had gone by slow, the chilly northern Idaho weather keeping people at home rather than enjoying an evening at the diner. I wouldn’t argue, though. It let my mind wander back to last night.
“Do you want to coordinate outfits?” she asked, readjusting the stack of menus that saton the bar.
I grabbed the container of salt from under the counter, uncapping one of the shakers to refill it. “Aren’t we a little old for dressing up?”
She gasped, holding a hand to her chest. “We are never too old for dressing up.”
I shot her a frown, side-eying her as the salt reached the brim. Setting the jug on the counter, I screwed the cap on the glass shaker.
“Maybe sexy cheerleaders,” she thought aloud, tapping a pink-painted nail to her bottom lip. It matched her lip gloss and blush scrunchie.
I gestured to our uniforms. “We already practically dress up as that every day.”
She scrunched her nose. “You’re right. Scratch that. How about Barbie?”
