Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Romeo
The clubhouse had finally settled down for the night. Most of the brothers had either disappeared into their rooms or gone home to their old ladies, leaving the halls quiet enough that I could hear the occasional creak of the building around me.
Normally, I would’ve appreciated it.
Tonight, the quiet left entirely too much room for Fiona.
I lay across my bed with my shirt tossed somewhere on the floor and the top button of my jeans undone, staring at the ceiling while my phone sat on the nightstand beside me. I had a run to Cheyenne tomorrow and should’ve been asleep already.
Instead, I was picturing Fiona miles away in another state.
More specifically, I was wondering what she was wearing.
Christ.
I scrubbed a hand down my face.
This was what I got for asking her questions and actually listening to the answers. Weeks ago, she’d mentioned a pair of flannel pajama pants with little snowflakes on them. I had no reason to remember that.
Naturally, I remembered every fucking detail.
I could see her curled up on her bed in those pants and one of those oversized sweatshirts she seemed to love. Hair down. Bare feet tucked beneath her. Probably staring at her phone while she tried to decide whether whatever I’d said last was flirting or she was imagining things.
After our conversation the other day, I hoped she was imagining plenty.
I’d described my type carefully enough that she should’ve known I was describing her. Then she’d turned the question around and described me right back. Neither of us had said the obvious part.
We hadn’t needed to.
My hand drifted toward my phone.
Bad idea.
I knew it before I even picked the damn thing up.
Fiona was probably already in bed. I should have left her alone for one night. Let her think. Give her some space after the line we’d been dancing around.
That was what a sensible man would do.
Nobody had ever accused me of being sensible.
Me: What are you wearing?
I stared at the message after I sent it.
Smooth, Romeo.
Real fucking smooth.
Ma Belle: That question came out of nowhere
I laughed under my breath.
Nowhere?
That question had been living rent-free in my head for months.
Me: It came from Nebraska.
Ma Belle: Very helpful
Me: You didn’t answer.
My grin slowly faded as I waited on those incessant dots to reappear. That pause did something to me that it had no business doing. She was thinking about the question. Maybe wondering why I’d asked it. Maybe deciding how much she wanted to give me.
Ma Belle: Pajamas
I stared at the little smirking face.
Well, hell.
Me: Details matter.
Ma Belle: Why?
Because apparently, I’d finally let my imagination go where it wanted to with Fiona.
More dangerous was how quickly my mind supplied everything I wanted beneath it.
Bare skin. Long legs tangled in my sheets.
That sweatshirt pushed up high enough for my mouth to find every inch she’d been hiding from me.
I wanted to know what she looked like flushed and breathless, what sounds she made when somebody touched her exactly right.
I sure as fuck wasn’t stupid enough to put any of that on her phone.
Me: I’m building a mental picture.
Ma Belle: That sounds dangerous
My mouth curved. It was dangerous alright, and she was getting bolder.
I’d noticed it gradually over the last few weeks. Fiona still second-guessed herself, still backed away when something became too real, but every once in a while, that cautious girl disappeared and somebody else peeked through.
Somebody who knew exactly what she was doing to me.
Me: It could be.
Ma Belle: Flannel pants and an old sweatshirt.
Of course she was wearing the damn pants.
There was nothing remotely scandalous about flannel and an oversized sweatshirt. On anyone else, I probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought.
On Fiona, my imagination immediately became a problem. I shifted against the mattress and told myself to get my shit together. She was sitting in Virginia wearing pajamas.
That was all.
My brain could stop undressing her anytime it wanted.
Apparently, it didn’t want to.
Me: Disappointing.
Ma Belle: Excuse me?
I laughed. There was my girl.
Me: I was hoping for something scandalous.
I waited. Longer this time, hoping I hadn’t pushed too far. There was still a line here, even if neither of us seemed particularly interested in staying far away from it tonight.
Ma Belle: You don’t get scandalous details
My thumb moved before the reasonable part of my brain could interfere.
Me: Yet.
I leaned back against the headboard and waited for her reply.
Ma Belle: That was confident
The grin came back.
Me: That was hopeful.
There was another pause before the phone buzzed again.
Ma Belle: What are you wearing?
I looked down at myself.
Well, fuck me.
She’d turned it around.
I could have told her the truth. Shirtless. Jeans half undone because I’d been too lazy to change before falling across the bed. Considering where my head already was, that seemed like a spectacularly bad idea.
Me: Jeans.
Ma Belle: That’s all?
My eyebrows went up. The woman was absolutely fucking with me now.
Me: You suddenly sound interested.
Ma Belle: I’m building a mental picture
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the wall.
Christ Almighty.
Whatever control I’d been congratulating myself for having over the last few months apparently had limits, and Fiona had decided to start looking for them.
Me: Careful, Cher.
Ma Belle: Why?
I stared at the question.
Because the answer in my head wasn’t one she was getting tonight.
Not because she couldn’t handle flirting—she’d made that much clear.
But there was flirting, and then there was telling Fiona exactly where my thoughts had gone while I imagined her lying in bed.
I wanted that conversation someday.
I just didn’t want our first one happening through a screen.
Me: Mine might be better than yours.
Ma Belle: Prove it
My entire body went still.
Prove it.
Four months ago, I would’ve accepted that invitation before the other person had time to regret issuing it. I’d never been shy about sex, women, or telling someone exactly what I wanted.
Fiona was different.
That truth had become so familiar it barely surprised me anymore.
With her, I cared what happened after.
Me: Not over text.
Ma Belle: Coward
I laughed.
Me: Gentleman.
Ma Belle: Debatable
I stared at the message for a long moment.
She had no idea.
Or maybe she was beginning to.
The interesting part wasn’t that Fiona had asked what I was wearing or dared me to prove what I was imagining. It was that she’d done all of it and stayed. A few weeks ago, one suggestive comment would’ve sent her scrambling back behind sarcasm and safer questions.
Tonight, she’d pushed.
Then pushed again.
I’d spent so much time worrying that I might move too fast that I hadn’t considered what would happen when Fiona started setting the pace herself. Apparently, it involved me lying shirtless in my bed, staring at my phone and questioning every ounce of restraint I possessed.
I set the phone beside me and rubbed both hands over my face.
What I wanted was simple.
Doing it right wasn’t.
There were things I could’ve typed that would’ve left absolutely no doubt about how I saw her. What I thought about when my mind wandered. How badly I wanted the day to come when distance wasn’t the thing keeping us apart.
But Fiona already knew I was attracted to her.
Tonight had answered that question.
She didn’t need me drowning her in everything else before she’d figured out what she wanted to do with that knowledge.
I picked up the phone again.
Her last message still waited on the screen.
Debatable.
My smile came back.
She was right.
I wasn’t much of a gentleman.
But for her, I could fake it a little longer.
The harder question was, how long was she going to let me?
I plugged the phone into the charger and stretched out beneath the covers, though sleep still felt a long way off.
For months, I’d thought patience meant waiting for Fiona to catch up.
Tonight, for the first time, I wondered whether the day was coming when I’d be the one trying to keep up with her. That thought was far more dangerous than anything I could’ve sent over text.