Chapter 14
Nate
We’re so close I can feel the warmth of her breath against my lips. The heat makes its way through my body, every inch of my skin aware of how close she is. This is the moment I’ve dreamed of since that day ten years ago, but I don’t want to rush it.
I breathe in the scent of her, all strawberry and citrus and something that I swear to God smells like straight-up sunshine. I tighten my fingers on her jaw.
Her breath catches in her chest, and her lips part ever so slightly.
I lean closer, needing to taste her. Wondering if she tastes the same, if our kiss will feel familiar, or if it will be better, the way she is. The same, but better.
“Nate,” she whispers, and I’m a complete goner at the sound of her voice.
I close the distance between us, our lips barely brushing, and—
Beep-beep-beep-beep!
We fly apart at the high-pitched alert from my phone, the shrill noise indicating an urgent message from the station.
“Shoot,” I say, trying to make sense of the look that crosses her face as I grapple for my phone, which is repeating the sound at an ear-splitting decibel. “I have to get this, Rory. I’m so sorry.”
Spam—sensing, incorrectly, that his input is needed here—begins to yip along with the beeping.
I give him a look as I swipe open the message.
High Lonesome PD
Multi-vehicle car accident on the outskirts of town. Need you here.
I fire off a confirmatory text that I’m on my way. Standing from the couch, I shove the phone into my pocket and look at Rory. She’s stiff, her shoulders back and her eyes wide.
She’s overthinking this, and everything in me screams for me to gather her in my arms and hold her close and kiss her, to tell her that I want to explore this new thing that’s growing between us, to ask if she’s willing to give this a real try. Give us a real try.
But they need me at the station, and unlike some jobs where it’s an easy choice to put your personal life above work needs, in my case, work is literally life and death.
I knew this when I took the job. Hell, I knew it when I applied to the police academy.
I saw Dad miss family dinners and soccer games while I was a kid, getting called for car accidents and domestic disturbances.
True emergencies needing backup were rare in High Lonesome—still are—but they happen, and when they do, they take top priority.
I had no illusions about what I was signing up for.
And when I made the choice to apply for a job in High Lonesome, I knew I’d be taking backup calls like this.
The sacrifices were worth it.
But for the first time in my life, I wish I didn’t have to go.
“Rory,” I start, but she shakes her head.
“Go,” she says. “They need you. Go do your job. It’s okay.”
Her expression tells me that it’s not okay, that she’s going to spend every second between now and when I get back replaying our barely-a-kiss over and over.
It’s not like I’ll be able to get it out of my head, either.
“Go,” she says again.
“This might take a while. Don’t wait up.” I cup her chin in my palm and lean down. A kiss on the lips feels like too much too fast, but I can’t leave without touching her one more time, so I brush my lips over her forehead. “We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?”
She nods as I head for the closet by the front door. I shed my jeans and pull on my cargo pants over my boxers, then I trade my Hawks T-shirt for one with the High Lonesome Police logo on the upper left. I keep the change of clothes right by the door so I can be ready to go in under a minute.
Spam stands between me and the door, his tail wagging at a frantic pace. Ollie, for his part, is resting quietly on his bed, although his ears perk up as he watches me change, waiting to see if it’s time to work, but for tonight, he gets to stay home.
“Stay,” I tell both dogs as I turn the knob.
“I’ve got him.” Rory crosses the room and scoops the wiggling pup into her arms.
I gaze into her eyes one more time as I open the door and step out.
“Tomorrow,” I promise.
I shut the back door of the ambulance and pat it twice as it starts to move, the passenger of one of the cars safely tucked in the back on his way to the hospital.
The three-car collision was the biggest we’ve seen this year, but fortunately, everyone involved seems to be okay.
“Thanks, Nate,” Braxton says. “I’ll take care of the kid.”
The chief jerks his head toward his cruiser, where seventeen-year-old Cayden Banner sits in the back seat, tears streaming down his face.
“You going to book him?” I ask.
Braxton shrugs. “I’ll talk to Mike. See what he wants me to do. At the very least, he’s on the hook for the damages to the cars.”
I nod, agreeing. It’s what I’d do, too. I know Mike Banner as well as Brax does—he owns a local construction company.
My guess is that he’ll let his son spend the night in lockup but won’t push for us to press charges.
The drivers of the other cars, both locals, probably won’t, either.
Cayden is a good kid, captain of the lacrosse team at the high school, and he’s a straight-A student.
It’s tough to justify ruining his life over the few seconds when he made the mistake of looking at a text message instead of the road, but he’s not going to get off the hook without any consequences.
“Anyway, I think we’re all set here. You can head on home.”
As I walk to my car, I go over my conversation with Rory in my mind, wondering if she’s second-guessing things. If we’ve taken a step forward or a step back.
I blow out a breath as I run my hand over my face.
I want to go at Rory’s pace, to take it as slow as she needs to prove that I’m the right man for her, but I’ve been waiting ten years for this. Ten. Fucking. Years.
After all that time, Rory’s finally back in my life, and I want nothing more than to make up for all that lost time. Touch her, hold her, kiss her.
But then, I’ve waited this long. I can wait longer if I have to, no matter how painful my dick is every time she’s around.
A text from Lawton flashes on my screen. I swipe to open it, wondering how long he and Travis stayed at the bar after I left.
Lawton
How’d it go?
I hope it’s going so well you can’t respond. Good luck, man.
I sit in the driver’s seat, the ignition running with the car in park, as I type out a response.
Not that well.
A reply comes back almost immediately.
Fuck, man. You should be with her, not talking to me. Did you two at least talk? Did you apologize?
Yeah, and she apologized too. And we were so fucking close to…something.
And?
And nothing. I got called out to an MVC. At the worst fucking time.
Were you about to… *bow chicka wow wow*?
This isn’t high school, asshole. We were about to kiss. We did, just barely. Sometimes I hate this job.
Someone’s crabby. You do need to get laid.
Fuck off.
The worst part is that Lawton’s not wrong. It’s been a long time since I got laid, and ever since Rory, that’s all it’s been. Getting laid. Fucking. Never making love, especially after that first disastrous attempt at a relationship right after I moved back to High Lonesome.
I’ve never had the connection I had with Rory with anyone else. Even when Rory and I were two fumbling teenagers in the back seat of my car or in her childhood bedroom, there was something there that I’ve never found since.
Until now, when I’m feeling whispers of that same connection.
I brought up the pact we made.
And? Did she remember?
She did. And things were going well, but when I had to leave… Fuck. She didn’t say much, but there was a look on her face. I feel like we’re back at square one.
Think the pact is what scared her off? Or getting called in?
Or was it the sight of your dick?
Dude, looking for emotional support here. If I wanted to talk to a jackass I’d talk to Ollie.
But for the record, she’s seen my dick, remember? And she loved it then. And it grew along with the rest of me since then. I think she’ll be pleased.
Jesus, I don’t want to hear about your dick.
You brought it up.
Yeah, deeply regretting that decision.
So what do I do? Seriously.
I’m not exactly the relationship expert over here. But you’ve still got almost two weeks with her, right? So make the most of it. Let her see that you’re a good guy and worth giving a chance.
And if that doesn’t work, whip out that dick you’re so proud of.
With an eye roll, I turn my phone to silent and plug it into the charger. Maybe Lawton is right. Not about whipping out my dick, obviously, but the other stuff. Talking to her, showing her I’m still the guy she fell in love with once. Hoping I can be the guy she’ll fall in love with again.
Back at home, Rory is nowhere to be found, but her bedroom door is shut. There’s a small wave of disappointment, but I told her not to wait up, and I was out at the accident site for almost two hours.
Spam is still in the living room, though, and he follows me through the house as I do my usual evening routine, making sure the doors are locked and the lights are out, that my keys and jacket are hanging in the right spot.
Ollie likes to stay in his crate at night, and when I look, I find him already curled up inside, like the good dog he is. I latch the door as I say goodnight to him, smiling at the thump-thump when he wags his tail against the wall.
Spam, with nowhere for me to cage him, follows me up the stairs. I look back at him as I reach the landing.
“First thing tomorrow, pipsqueak, we’re getting you a crate,” I whisper, trying not to wake up Rory. “And enrolling you in obedience school.”
Spam’s ears perk up, and for a second, I think he may have some potential. But he’s looking toward Rory’s door, not at me.
A sound comes from that direction, and now my ears perk up, too. Is that—
It comes again, and yeah. That’s definitely a moan.
All the blood in my body rushes to my dick. I feel like a peeping tom, or at least an eavesdropping tom, if that’s even a thing. This is what she does to me, though. One look, one sound, and I’m hard as a fucking rock.
Spam lets out a yip as another soft moan floats from Rory’s bedroom.
I can tell she’s trying to stay quiet. Somehow that’s even hotter—the idea that she wants it so badly that she can’t not touch herself, even though she doesn’t want me to hear her.
Of course, the last thing I need is Spam alerting her that I’m out here, listening to her like a perv.
Especially sporting a boner. I think that would make the whole scene even worse.
I shush the little whistleblower before he can make even more noise and close myself in the other bedroom, thankful that this one has an ensuite bathroom and even more thankful that the bathroom doesn’t share a wall with Rory’s room.
Locking the door, I shed my clothes as I make my way across the room to the bathroom.
Despite the plush carpet, the old floor creaks beneath my steps.
I pray that it isn’t loud enough to draw Rory’s attention.
I need to relieve some of this tension, and I need to do it in a way that isn’t going to scare her off.
In the bathroom, I turn the knob to start the water and wait while the shower heats up, slowly as usual. Leaning on the counter, I stare at myself in the mirror while I give myself a silent pep talk. Be cool, Nate. Don’t push her. This is your one chance. You have to get this right.
I thought I was waiting for closure, but it’s more than that. I’ve been waiting for her.
Maybe it’s fate. Maybe we had to spend that time apart to realize that we have a connection that no one else can match, and that the sparks between us have only gotten stronger over the last decade.
At least, that’s what I’m realizing. I just hope Rory is on the same page.
Steam drifts out of the shower as the water finally gets to the right temperature. What I really need is a cold shower, but if I don’t get some release, I’m not going to make it until the reunion. Especially with the sound of Rory’s moans echoing in my mind.
The thought of the reunion sparks a question in my mind. Is Rory planning to head back to Denver as soon as the event is over? I wonder if I can get her to stay longer, to spend more time with me.
I’m glad to have her stay as long as she wants. As long as it takes for me to win her over completely.
I step into the spray and immediately brace one hand on the wall while the other grips the base of my dick because I’m not here to wash up.
Rory was obviously taking care of herself, which means she wasn’t completely unaffected by our conversation or our closeness or something. My cock gets even harder, and my balls ache as I imagine Rory touching herself.
What’s she like down there now? Does she shave, or wax, or is she all natural like I remember? Is she as hot and tight and wet as the memory that I cling to of our last time together?
I stroke my length slowly, gripping firmly as I think of her small hands exploring the area between her legs.
How does she like it now? Hard and fast? Slow and gentle?
And what was she thinking about when she was locked in her bedroom, touching herself?
I stroke myself faster and harder, seeing nothing but Rory’s face in my mind.
Rory. Always Rory.
As I come, it’s her face I’m seeing.
And as my vision starts to clear, I know what I need to do.