Chapter 19 Jasper
Chapter nineteen
Jasper
four days later
The horses are restless today, picking up on the cold front moving in. I rub a hand down Dezzy’s neck, calming her, even though my own nerves could use a little settling of their own.
Because Abigail is walking toward me.
She’s bundled in a thick jacket, pale cheeks pink from the wind, hair tucked behind her ears before falling in a thick braid down her back in a way that shouldn’t do a damn thing to me. Yet, it does. Every damn time.
“Jasper,” she greets softly.
I swallow, thumb tracing a circle in Destiny’s black coat as I force myself not to stare at her lips.
The same luscious pale-pink lips I’ve been drawn to since that night in the guesthouse.
The ones I find myself constantly wondering how they’d taste, or how they’d look as they popped open while I kissed her neck, or the sounds they’d make as they were wrapped around my—
God dammit, Jasper. No.
“You alright?” I ask.
She nods. “Beau said you were in a bit of a mood today, so I was just checking in.”
Beau talks too much.
I’m in a bit of a mood because I woke up for the fifth straight morning in a row hard as fucking steel because I’m too busy dreaming about the woman standing in front of me.
And don’t even get me started on how practice went yesterday.
My season starts in two weeks, and I can’t focus to save my fucking life.
So, yeah. I’m in a bit of a mood
But she doesn’t need to know that. I consider brushing it off, but she steps closer, looking up at me with this stubborn tenderness that slides right past every wall I’ve built.
So, I let the truth out. Just a sliver at least.
“Just a lot on my plate with the season starting soon, is all.”
The look on her face let’s me know she’s not buying it, but she doesn’t push. Doesn’t pry. Just stands beside me, her shoulder brushing against my arm, offering quiet instead of questions. And that hits deeper than any conversation.
“I’m here if you ever want to talk,” she whispers before Destiny huffs a warm breath between us.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I know.”
And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Because all we’ve done since I walked away from her that night at the guesthouse is talk. It’s been over a month of talking. And the longer she’s here, the more I want to do anything but talk.