Chapter 26
Morgan
I clock Rory leaving while my friends throw out guesses as to who could be the Secret Santa of Smut, and I hope that’s not the end of the night.
I want to get back to where we were before my brother stole my package and threw a box of sex toys at my door.
I want Rory to know that whatever flaws she thinks she has, her teeth aren’t one.
Rory may be prickly and stubborn, but beneath that exterior is someone who I see is lonely. It hasn’t escaped my attention that she’s never once mentioned a friend, and all the pictures she’s brought with her, now scattered around my house, are of her and her grandmother.
When I tap the end call button, the house goes quiet. My toys are still out on the counter so I gather them up and take them to my room, passing Rory’s open door on the way. After dropping the goodies on my bed, I return to the open door.
She’s lying in bed on her phone, Princess curled up behind her knees. See? My dog loves her. And everyone knows dogs are a good judge of character.
There’s a suitcase on the floor, the main compartment open and clothes neatly folded up.
It crosses my mind for a moment that maybe the kiss was too much, and she wants to pack her things and move out, but then I remember that it’s Monday and she’s probably just hitting the road in the van tomorrow.
I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” Her word is clipped, and then, like she thinks better of it, she drops her phone onto the comforter and shifts slightly onto her back.
I’m going to take it as an invitation.
Not a big one. But just enough.
I step forward. Princess’s tail whacks against the bed and Rory’s gaze follows me. I plant a hand on the headboard and reach the other down to give Princess a tiny butt scratch before I fist it on the bed.
Rory’s staring up at me, eyes wide.
“I’m not quite tired yet, so I’ll probably watch some TV before bed. You want to watch with me?”
She shakes her head. “I’m out of here at six tomorrow.”
“All right. I’ll be quiet.” I smile at her and purposefully look at her mouth.
Her lips tighten, compressing in an automatic reaction to my attention. I wait a beat and watch as Rory’s eyes dart around my face. Then she relaxes, starting at the curled fist I can see halfway under the pillow and ending at her lips, which soften and part for me.
I dip my head and kiss her. It’s gentle and slow and I’m not sure whose tongue moves first but then we’re kissing deep and languid, our breaths matching.
The temptation to move, to put my hand to her cheek and cup her jaw and lie on top of her, gets too strong and I back away.
Rory needs time to see that I’m serious about her. She needs to see our interactions as I see them—not insincere flirting and an ingrained instinct to charm, but genuine interest in a woman I find completely, utterly fascinating.
I let my nose just barely graze hers before I whisper, “Good night, Rory,” and remove myself from temptation.
I wake up the next morning resolved to deal with my brother and my mom.
Rory’s van is gone, the cat is in hiding, and the afternoon stretches in front of me before I go open the bar.
Even with Princess’s bubbly presence, I wish Rory were here.
The floodgates are open and I want to spend all day kissing her.
Instead, after eating dinner and walking Princess, I text my brother.
Graham
Don’t come to my house again or I’ll call the cops.
Give me the car back and I’ll leave you alone.
You stole from me.
We bought the car fair and square. That was a good price for the work it needs. Do you have the money you owe me?
How much is that car worth to you? Think about that real hard.
I shake my head and switch to the texts from my mom. Yesterday they started with “give your car back to your brother” and ended with “You’ve always held your brother back.”
My finger hovers over the call button. I wish Rory were here and I’d have another distraction.
I tap it.
My mom answers on the third ring. “What have you done?” she cries. “How could you do this to Graham?”
She goes off on a tirade and I can’t get a word in edgewise.
The short version: my brother works so hard (untrue) and he wants to pay me back (also untrue) but it’s not his fault that the dispensary got shut down (it is) and if I could just cut him some slack (because two years isn’t enough) and it’s not like I need the money since I’m just working at the bar (gee, thanks).
I stick with the same story we told Graham. “I’m getting married, Mom. I need that money to pay for the wedding.”
I’m guessing—based on the Herevian gossip mill—that Mom already knew about the engagement. But she doesn’t bother to congratulate me or ask when she’s going to meet my fiancée.
At least she’s—I think—sober.
I know that I’m not going to walk away from any conversation with my mom as the good guy. But I can’t stop trying.
I let her talk, trying to tune it out. Two more minutes. I’ll give myself two more minutes to try to get her to see my side of it.
It doesn’t work, and when the timer on the call clicks over to a new minute, I tell my mom I gotta go.
“I’ll tell Graham to come by again,” she says.
“Don’t,” I say, but she’s hung up already.
I wait on edge in the backyard, throwing tennis balls for Princess and expecting my brother to come by at any moment. I’m glad the ring is with Rory and the car is shut up in the garage.
He doesn’t come, and I go to work.