Page 64 of Wylder Ranch
“When?”
“Last year, Haven. You know when.”
“I told you why.” I roll the pajama waistband over to stop them from falling down.
“No, you didn’t. Not really. Distance isn’t a good enough excuse, especially now.”
My neck jerks back. “What does that mean, ‘especially now’?”
“What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know, Alex. I’m not sure what any of this means.” I wave a hand between us, ignoring the stinging on the roof of my mouth and the slight lisp it’s giving me. Because it’s hard to sound mad with a lisp, and I ammad.Alex has brought me over to the dark side. “It’s the middle of the night, and you’re pissed about something that didn’t happen nearly a year ago?”
His eyes narrow, and I can almost hear his teeth grinding together. “Answer my question, Haven. And I want the truth.”
We’re in a staring contest. Narrowed eye to narrowed eye. I’m tempted to see how long we can go without one of us breaking, and who will break.
My money’s on me, because I’m too distracted by Alex’s nakedness and surprised I’m not already wiping drool from my chin. I know it’s the exact reason he’s not bothered to put a sweater on. I couldn’t have been any more obvious checking him out.
Calculating asshole.
In the end, I throw my hands in the air and snap, “Fine. I was scared. Happy now?”
From the way his eyes widen and his thick dark brows shoot up, I guess it wasn’t the answer he was expecting.
“Scared? Of what?”
My mind goes back to that day eleven months ago, when Alex left to return to England. We’d spent a week together, an uninhibited week of fucking. We couldn’t get enough. It was all-consuming when it should have been a Christmas fling, but between all the sex, something happened.
We talked and shared and laughed and commiserated. My life up to meeting Alex had been spent caring for my sick parents and managing their business. I hadn’t had time for much fun in between. Alex showed me how to find it again.
When he left, I cried for a week. I grieved.
Not just for Alex, but for everything I knew I’d been missing out on. When I first heard his voicemail, it made me so insanely happy that it scared the shit out of me. Deep in the pit of my stomach, I knew that if I called him back, it would only lead to more heartbreak for me.
Then Saylor showed me his picture inPeoplemagazine, and I used it as confirmation.
“Of you,” I snap, finally. Though I can’t quite meet his eye, I know he wants more. A surge of emotion has my voice cracking, but it’s no less angry. “Ofus. That week we had last year was incredible. You swept me away. I was scared of falling in love with you, only to get my heart broken when it had barely mended. Look at your life. Look at mine. We’re sodifferent?—”
“Haven—”
“What would have happened if I had called you back?”
He doesn’t hesitate to reply, “I wanted to take you out for New Year’s, and?—”
“And then what?”
“What d’you mean?”
“I mean exactly that. After our date on New Year’s Eve, when would we have had our second...our third? Where would that have been? Here, Aspen? How would we have seen each other when we lived five thousand miles apart?”
“Haven—”
“Exactly,” I spit out, arms crossing over my chest like I’ve proved my point and won this argument even though I know I’ve barely given him the opportunity to respond.
Because if he does and says anything remotely like something I want to hear, I will have a meltdown.
BecauseI spent the past year alone due to my own stubbornness.
