silver adorning it. A couple of the pearl snaps are undone on his black western shirt, which goes nicely with his black dress boots. His jeans are faded and frayed in all the right spots. He’s a delightful combination of perfect gentlemen and rugged cowboy.
Showtime. I turn my attention back to … Keith. Right, Keith . “So Keith,” I begin, cutting him off, “what do you say we get out of here? I can take you for a walk along the property,” I suggest in what I hope is a sexy voice.
“Umm … I, uh, I don’t know. We just got here and …” Great! I’ve picked a pansy-ass.
I run my finger down the front of his shirt and try again. “I’m looking to have a good time tonight.” I bite my lip since that seems to turn guys on. “Don’t you wanna show—”
I can’t finish my suggestion because I get the breath knocked out of me when I’m pulled into the angry wall that is Greer. This time when I bite my lip, it’s to keep from full-on smiling. I sense victory.
“Excuse us,” he mutters to Keith.
Keeping hold of my elbow, he pushes me through the crowd, and I can still feel the rage radiating from him. Angry sex. I don’t think that will be good for my first time. I snicker at that thought.
“There’s not a damn thing funny here, Denver,” he seethes.
I purse my lips but end up laughing loudly, turning a few heads as he leads me out of the house and around to the space above the garage that doubles as game room and my ex-step-sister’s bedroom.
“Greer,” I toss over my shoulder, “I really like this caveman thing you’ve got going on, but if your intention is a friendly game of pool, I need you to let me go. I’ve got an agenda tonight.”
“Shut up, Denver.” I shut up.
Once we get upstairs, he propels me into the room and throws the lock behind us. He tosses his hat on the pool table while turning to me. The look on his face is pure torture. And I feel so badly for goading him that I yearn to take him in my arms and say, “Forget it. I’m sorry,” but I can’t afford feelings right now—his or mine.
He finally speaks, and each word punches itself out of him. “Denver, I’d give anything to be with you but not because you feel threatened or like it’s a last resort. I. Just. Can’t. But don’t you see I want to? Can’t we just pretend we do and go on like we were?”
“Do you think this is how I want it to be, Greer?” I throw my arms out like my joke of a life is splayed before me. “Do you think I enjoy being hunted like an endangered species? Because that’s what it feels like. Like there’s a fucking prize on my head, and my days are numbered! Did you know that the night Blake came home I lay on the bathroom floor sobbing for hours in between my bouts of throwing up? That when I was finally able to pick myself up and go to bed, I propped a chair under my door, and I went to bed fully clothed? That I lie there most nights wide-awake and cursing my existence? When I’m finally able to sleep, that it’s been with a gun?” My voice hitches, and I curse myself. “That I considered turning that very gun on myself?”
Ripples of pain transform the cold fury marring his features. “No, don’t talk like that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of feeling this way. I’m tired of watching my back. Every day, he leers at me as if he’s preparing me for the inevitable. I don’t want him or any other pervert to be my inevitable, Greer. I want it to be you. The first man who touches me like that has to love me. You love me … please, love me,” I whimper. Greer stares at me, assessing me and my pleas, and I try to remain quiet to let him decide, once and for all.
He has to see what I see because all of these fears and the subsequent paranoia have manifested themselves physically as well. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep. My nightmares wake me up with paralyzing fear. I know it’s bad when I realize my
Showtime. I turn my attention back to … Keith. Right, Keith . “So Keith,” I begin, cutting him off, “what do you say we get out of here? I can take you for a walk along the property,” I suggest in what I hope is a sexy voice.
“Umm … I, uh, I don’t know. We just got here and …” Great! I’ve picked a pansy-ass.
I run my finger down the front of his shirt and try again. “I’m looking to have a good time tonight.” I bite my lip since that seems to turn guys on. “Don’t you wanna show—”
I can’t finish my suggestion because I get the breath knocked out of me when I’m pulled into the angry wall that is Greer. This time when I bite my lip, it’s to keep from full-on smiling. I sense victory.
“Excuse us,” he mutters to Keith.
Keeping hold of my elbow, he pushes me through the crowd, and I can still feel the rage radiating from him. Angry sex. I don’t think that will be good for my first time. I snicker at that thought.
“There’s not a damn thing funny here, Denver,” he seethes.
I purse my lips but end up laughing loudly, turning a few heads as he leads me out of the house and around to the space above the garage that doubles as game room and my ex-step-sister’s bedroom.
“Greer,” I toss over my shoulder, “I really like this caveman thing you’ve got going on, but if your intention is a friendly game of pool, I need you to let me go. I’ve got an agenda tonight.”
“Shut up, Denver.” I shut up.
Once we get upstairs, he propels me into the room and throws the lock behind us. He tosses his hat on the pool table while turning to me. The look on his face is pure torture. And I feel so badly for goading him that I yearn to take him in my arms and say, “Forget it. I’m sorry,” but I can’t afford feelings right now—his or mine.
He finally speaks, and each word punches itself out of him. “Denver, I’d give anything to be with you but not because you feel threatened or like it’s a last resort. I. Just. Can’t. But don’t you see I want to? Can’t we just pretend we do and go on like we were?”
“Do you think this is how I want it to be, Greer?” I throw my arms out like my joke of a life is splayed before me. “Do you think I enjoy being hunted like an endangered species? Because that’s what it feels like. Like there’s a fucking prize on my head, and my days are numbered! Did you know that the night Blake came home I lay on the bathroom floor sobbing for hours in between my bouts of throwing up? That when I was finally able to pick myself up and go to bed, I propped a chair under my door, and I went to bed fully clothed? That I lie there most nights wide-awake and cursing my existence? When I’m finally able to sleep, that it’s been with a gun?” My voice hitches, and I curse myself. “That I considered turning that very gun on myself?”
Ripples of pain transform the cold fury marring his features. “No, don’t talk like that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of feeling this way. I’m tired of watching my back. Every day, he leers at me as if he’s preparing me for the inevitable. I don’t want him or any other pervert to be my inevitable, Greer. I want it to be you. The first man who touches me like that has to love me. You love me … please, love me,” I whimper. Greer stares at me, assessing me and my pleas, and I try to remain quiet to let him decide, once and for all.
He has to see what I see because all of these fears and the subsequent paranoia have manifested themselves physically as well. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep. My nightmares wake me up with paralyzing fear. I know it’s bad when I realize my
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